Falling through the Rabbit Hole
by Caligraphy
Summary: Have you heard the story of a little girl lost in the woods who took the monsters flesh and wore it as a coat of Armour? Have you heard the tale of the Dragon Son who flies with lightening on his scales and spark in his heart. Have you heard the legend of the boy who conquered death and rose amongst the ruins. Listen and listen well for their's is a story you will never forget.
1. Aurora Part 1

Part 1

It was warm. The covers soft and silky on her bared skin, it was also quite bright. The sunlight making her frown and then blearily open her eyes. She could hear the faint singing of something… a bird? Maybe. Hermione slowly shook off the grip of her sleep and glanced around the room. It was very pretty, cream walls with a rose wreath border, pale beech wood furnishing, tile flooring and an elegant white desk, with intricate ivy carvings along the legs. Nearby, massive bay windows let the suns light illuminate the room. It was the kind of room little girls dreamed of and deemed "fit for a princess".

After swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, Hermione sunk her feet into the thick, fluffy rug and stood. The covers fell away and Hermione found herself clothed in beautiful white silk nightgown. Further investigation revealed that Hermione's ordinarily, unmanageable hair had been braided into two perfect plaits and was far longer than it should have been, reaching the small of her back instead of cresting her shoulder blades.

"What on earth?" Hermione whispered her eyes furrowed in confusion. Horror struck her suddenly, "My wand!" She cried. Spinning back around to face the bed, Hermione was relieved to see her wand was intact, placed alongside a vase of red roses. Feeling the comforting weight of the 10 ¾ inch vine and dragon heart string wand she moved cautiously towards the windows and peered outside. It looked around noon and just like the room the view outside was like something from a child fantasy. A meadow of the brightest green, with flowers of all manner of colour dotting the clearing. It was wild and slightly overgrown though with the wrought iron fence wrapped in tendrils of ivy and broken in small portions.

She must have been starring for a while because it wasn't until the familiar feeling of Crookshanks winding his way through her ankles did her entrancement break. She picked him up and said "Crookshanks, what are you doing here? Matter of fact where is here because it certainly isn't Hogwarts… oh god the Boys. Where are they! And the Dementors? Am I dead?" The panicked witch began to hyperventilate as the memories flashed through her mind's eye.

The cat in question watched as his witch slipped into a panicked frenzy. When his displeased meows did not register with his witch, Crookshanks took initiative, raised his paw and smacked her nose (careful to sheathe his claws – as unbecoming as hysteria was she was still _his_ witch).

The wake up call administered by her cat reminded the thirteen year old just how ridiculous she was being. Panicking was going to help no one and for all she knew the boys could be just next door. "Thank you Crookshanks, I think I needed that." The cat gave a distinctly unimpressed glare and Hermione relented. "Okay so I did need that." The cat gave a satisfied nod and jumped from her arms onto the tiled floors.

Crookshanks stalked silently towards the door his tail raised in all of its fluffy terror. He did not like this place, something was distinctly off and Crookshanks was a cat of very good judgement.

"Now where are we _loco transgredior revelare,"_ the location spell hummed for a few moments. Its faintly orange glow shining brightly for a few seconds before dimming just as rapidly. Hermione frowned at her wand. She had used the spell many times before why was it failing now? Even if she couldn't produce an accurate map of her surroundings the spell should have pinpointed the country she was in at the very least. Hermione repeated the spell with the same results, causing her to snarl with frustration. Hermione gulped in some air and bottled some of her rising panic. "Right I'll just have to find someone, after all insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result." The albert Einstein quote was said with only a hint of hysteria.

With a little trepidation Hermione opened the door and entered the hallway. An unhappy Crookshanks followed after her, watching the shadows with thinly veiled suspicion.

Hermione wandered around the building she'd found herself in for what could have been minutes or hours as anxiety built up within her metaphorical bottle. She'd found thousands rooms, ranging from awe inspiring ballrooms complete with crystal chandeliers and marble staircases to dusty studies wreathed in cobwebs and dirt. The castle, it had to be a castle considering the sheer size of the stone corridors and quantity of rooms was an odd paradox of cleanliness and filth, as if the cleaners had gotten bored of cleaning anything other than the more majestic locations.

Then as the grandfather clocks chimed 5 o'clock and Hermione had walked the enitirety of the first floor she spotted a woman. Relief nearly palatable, Hermione ran forward her bare feet making a pitter patter sound as she ran.

"Miss! Miss!" Hermione called loudly as she came closer.

"Princess what are you doing out of bed! You should still be resting you took a nasty fall." The woman said fluttering closer, a manicured hand resting upon her bosom. Hermione had to take moment just to stare gobsmacked at her. She was elegance embodied, with long, straight black locks plaited into an intricate crown across her head. The clothes she wore were equally elegant though very old in style. She wore a red corset atop a white blouse and skirt similar in colourings reaching well past her ankles and trailing on the floor ever so slightly.

"I um what?" Still in shock at the strangers bizarre (even by wizarding standards) apparel the normally very eloquent girl stuttered horrifically.

"And in your night clothes? By the spirits what are you thinking, princess!" She cried chivvying her along and back towards the dream suite.

"Princess, what are you talking about?" Hermione said, trying to stop the 'guidance' of the surprisingly strong female "and where has Crookshanks gone?" She asked.

"Crookshanks? What is a Crookshanks? Are you playing your games again Princess?" The blond asked her indulgently. Before Hermione realised it they were in front of the room (the first room that is) again. "Now I know you've had a nasty fall so I want you lie down again and I will back in a moment with dinner." Miss Heart told her tucking the twelve year old into bed before Hermione even realised what was happening.

"Um, but Miss what are you talking about I'm not a princess!" Hermione said eyes wide, trying to escape from the covers binding her down as this deluded, albeit very polite woman continued to natter on about nonsense. Princess? Perhaps she'd been mistaken for her charge? "Madam I think you have me confused with someone else, my name is Hermione Granger and," Whatever Hermione had planned on saying was silenced by a raised palm and an alien sensation building up beneath her skin.

"Miss Heart, my dear I don't know why you keep forgetting." She said tutting disapprovingly. "And enough with these silly Hermione games your highness, you really are much too old to be playing pretend anymore."

"Now Princess Aurora, you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow so you are to go to sleep, do I make myself clear?" Miss Heart told her with a fierce frown.

"I-I Y-Yes Miss Miss Heart." A wave of something folded over Hermione making her unable to answer in any way other than affirmation.

"Very good, your highness, I will see you in the moring bright and early shan't I." Miss Heart told her brightly as she backed out of the room.

"Wait Miss heart!" An image of the boys appeared in her mind's eye and prompted her to continue. "Miss Heart, when I…fell, were there any boys nearby, a read head and boy with black hair?"

Miss Heart frowned again but shook her head. "No dear, no boys, now time to rest." She pulled upon the velvet cord that held the silver curtains back, drenching the world in unnerving darkness. "Good night your highness." She called, though Hermione could no longer see her.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Hermione drew her wand from her the pocket she'd tucked it into and called softly " _luminous."_ A fragile light grew from the wand tip. "Crookshanks?" She called quietly. The cat let a slightly mournful reply jumping up from under the bed and into large canopy bed. Hermione pulled the cat close and cuddled his reassuring warmth in her arms.

Crookshanks wrapped himself around his witch, purring comfortingly as Hermione shook with her bottled up fear and anxiety.

"Crookshanks I don't know what to do! I don't know where we are, this place seems to interfere with my spells and-and I-I don't know if-if I can go home! Oh god my parents when am I going to see them again! I want my daddy and my mum." Her last words were choked out as Hermione finally succumbed to her tears.

Eventually her tears ceased exhaustion took over and so she fell into a deep sleep not to be awakened until the very next day where she would be just as confused and scared as she was before.

A pattern began to emerge as days turned into weeks. At 9 o'clock precisely Miss Heart would push in a silver trolley containing Hermione's breakfast and deny another round of inquisitions. Hermione would eat the bland meal quickly and quietly so that she could ask more questions only for Miss Heart to deny her further.

Once her breakfast was pushed aside, Miss Heart helped her get dressed - and help _was_ required for the clothes Hermione had to wear. _Aurora_ wore clothes that had complicated knots and clips involved and highly impractical accessories. Her hair was then scraped into two distinct ringlets on either side of her head with a silken ribbon tying them together. The look was strange in childishness and Hermione did not like them but despite her vehement objections they remained irremovable. Her dresses were vaguely gothic in the sense they were overflowing with frills and delicate lace, though they were normally an abysmally bright flower pattern that Hermione also hated. Thankfully, Miss Heart did not insist that she wear a corset for fear of suffocating her growing body but the heels made walking a constant struggle. The only part of her outfit she actually liked were the gloves, though she'd been tempted to take a pair of scissors and cut them off at the wrist.

After being dressed she would be taken to the ballroom where Miss Castle would teach (read; force) elegance (which seemed to involve a lot of balancing books on heads), etiquette (she had never studied such an infuriating subject) and other such useless subjects. There were hours upon hours of dull repeated steps of dances much to her displeasure.

Despite her filled, and annoying, schedule Hermione was still permitted 3 hours of independent time each day - during which she was encouraged to sew, crochet or to pursue similarly ladylike activities, suggestions that she promptly ignored.

On some evenings she would wander the castle finding the interesting nooks and crannies the ancient castles as well as identifying which rooms had been neglected. A few times she had succeeded in finding the Keeps Garage (though there were no roads in sight) and had the pleasure of experimenting and fixing a car that seemed to run on magic.

Mostly though, Hermione would hurry down to the Keep's Library and she would spend the evenings teaching herself how to read the language of her new "home". It seemed, from her perspective an odd combination of Japanese and Arabic lettering, which if she hadn't had previous schooling in would have been near impossible to learn without considerable effort on a tutor's part. However due to some influence on her grandmother's part (Grandma Granger was Arabic by birth) and her mother's fascination with the country, Hermione was relatively familiar with both alphabets.

It was within her these hours of independence that Hermione was able to truly understand what had happened to her and she assumed, her best friends. If the texts were to be believed this was not earth but _Earthland_ and within this alternate earth, the castle resided within the kingdom Fiore somewhere along the base of the phoenix mountains.

Hermione did not consider leaving after that discovery and stopped fighting Miss Castle quite so vehemently. Her parents were a whole world away and the castle, along with Miss Heart was safe albeit odd. Crookshanks continued to despise Miss Heart, much to Hermione's annoyance who found the woman lovely, if slightly deluded. The cat refused to allow the woman to even know of his existence, feeding off god knows what and only appearing when she was well away.

"Miss Heart! Miss Heart! You won't believe what I found!" Hermione shouted running through the hall effortlessly despite the red platform heels she wore. The flowers entwined in her hair fared less well and fell straight onto the floor.

"Aurora, stop running you're ruining your hair!" Miss Heart told her putting down the crystal goblet she had been cleaning and immediately tried fixing the… rebellious hair as best she could. "Remember a lady glides, she does not scuttle!" She said scoldingly.

Hermione laughed and spun Miss Heart around. "Oh who cares about hair? You won't believe what I found in the library." She stopped spinning and pulled a small palm sized book from the purse slung haphazardly across her shoulder. "It's called Soul Magic and it's the most incredible thing I've ever come across! It uses the very power of your will to create spells and rituals with breath-taking results, look here," Hermione said opening the book onto a specific page. Said page had a symbolised drawing of an eclipse with distinct crossings of the sun and moon. "This spell allows you to cure curses, like possession and Demonic raising! Of course it requires three people to be committed to a platonic soul bond but I can learn it!"

"My can you now? And how do you know that Princess?" Miss Heart said with a delighted smile. "I'm not surprised your ancestors were famed for their magic were quite famous in their times."

A knot formed in Hermione stomach as she was unpleasantly reminded that Miss Heart still thought she was Princess Aurora. Giving her a slightly less happy smile, Hermione turned to the fifth page of the book. "This spell was apparently the way that they would identify Mages who could use Soul magic, watch. Hear me softly, energy I call you and so you must answer. "

As she recited the spell a golden glow formed around her body and the soft brown of her eyes was overwhelmed by two spinning and very intricate pentagrams, before they faded out. Miss Heart let out a soft gasp and tears welled in her eyes.

"Oh Princess!" She hugged her close. Hermione ignored the uncomfortable sensation her touch created and hugged back.

"So please, please, please I can replace EPE with training!" Hermione pleaded with pout and matching puppy dog eyes.

"EPE?" Miss Heart said with sigh.

"Elegance, Poise and Etiquette, EPE." Still leaning against Miss Heart, her hands clasped together.

"No." Miss Heart told her firmly, ignoring Hermione's disappointed whine. "However, I may consent to waking a little earlier and adding another 2 hours to your day, we'll need to find a place to practice in of course. EPE lessons will still continue from ten till twelve and your independent time will continue as per normal." Miss Heart muttered, her eyes alight with excitement as she mapped out various alterations to her schedule.

With a glance out the large floor to ceiling windows attached to the corridor Hermione raised a question that she hadn't mentioned since arriving in the castle two months ago. "Why don't I practice outside?" Hermione asked. Miss Heart stiffened visibly. Hermione hurried to explain. "I mean, soul magic is all about connecting to your inherent magic right? The forest will be filled with natural magic, to help with that I mean."

"No." Miss Heart said with a note of finality. Turning around Miss Heart starred with an intensity that shook Hermione; she took an involuntary step back. "You are to never leave the Keep, am I clear Princess?"

"I-um. Yes, Miss Heart," Hermione stuttered looking down her feet, her shoulders curling in on herself. "I'm going to go back to my room, the identification spell was tiring." Hermione said excusing herself.

"All right your highness, I will find you somewhere adequate to practice in." Miss Heart said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Hermione quickly walked off, and the moment she was around the corner, broke into a run. Tearing through the hallways until she reached her room. She threw the door open and locked it firmly behind her, then threw herself on her bed rocked herself back an forth. She felt the tendrils of something deep and heavy clinging to her skin as Miss Heart's furious expression filled her vision.

As she breathed in shuddering gulps of air, Crook shanks padded out of his hiding spot and circled his witch, prodding her cheek with his paw. "Maow?"

"Oh Crook shanks, I don't understand what's going on? Why can't I go outside? Why is Miss Heart upset with me? I don't want her to be upset with me?" She cried, with perhaps an unreasonable level of emotion.

The cat looked at her for a few moment before jumping of the bed and digging around his hidey hole. He pulled out a ratty book-bag strap and pulled from within that a thick leather bond journal. Griped firmly within his mouth, the cat dragged it across to the girl and then proceeded to meow imperiously.

"Crook Shanks?" Hermione said, her eyes still watering with her tears. She reached down and picked up both the book and the cat, cuddling him close. "I thought none of my books came with me," She looked at the leather bound book and opened the first page, still puzzled. With a sad smile she saw the date at September first. It was her Hogwarts journal.

It could have been hours or minutes for all Hermione knew, as she lost herself in the memories of her first and second year. The lonely and isolated days before Halloween; how deeply she had missed her parents; the incidents there after; the ranting of prejudiced potion masters; the gushing of the "unsurpassed" Professor Minerva McGonagall. There were various entries on the boys and with a start a thought occurred to her. Looking down at her cat, she whispered in confusion. "I haven't thought of them once Crooks. I've been her two months and I haven't thought of them once, they'll be in Fiore as well. I wonder where they are?" Something was nagging at the back of her mind but she could not pick up what it was. A wave of tiredness shot through her.

"Maow?" Crook Shanks called, even more worried now, his witch's book should have inspired some kind of emotional response. She should have begun worrying about her littermates

"Thank you Crooks, you are such a wonder. It's getting pretty late, I don't want to upset Miss Heart any further." Crook Shanks hissed at the dull response. "Oh I know you don't like her all that much Crooks, but she means well, if you gave her a chance, no? Very well little scrooge, but your opinion doesn't change anything. Goodnight." Then. Promptly fell asleep as if nothing was wring at all.

Just outside the door a spirit with big brown eyes and fluffy brown hair starred pleadingly at the door.


	2. Aurora Part 2

Part 2

Another four months passed and soon Hermione had reached the six months mark. Now possessing a target to aim for or a channel for her energy so to speak, Hermione wasn't quite so emotional. She had made a lot of progress in a very short time frame and was only a spell away from reaching a level where her body and mind could separate safely. A very exciting development.

However she wasn't quite there yet so she continued to practice her other, more physical and less demanding spells. The spell she was practicing now, was the sphere of defence. It was a spell that could create a shield the size of Hogwarts if performed correctly thought the cramped space of the studio made it rather difficult to practice on a large scale. The studio was in one of the top most turrets and a little stifling. Whilst an acceptable alternative to the ballroom, Hermione still found herself opening every window available, regardless of weather.

"Shield me with hope" Hermione recited. The spells were annoyingly wordy and cryptic is she was being honest.

Hermione raised her staff and was satisfied when a solid gold glow grew around the flowerpot. She had two solid defence spells now, a nullifier spell and several stronger attack spells. Her offensive capabilities were, unfortunately limited since that they all the useful spells required her staff, but the benefits outstripped the issues in this case.

In the 4 months she had been at the keep Hermione had come to a conclusion as to why Miss Heart was so unreasonable about leaving. "She's scared that she couldn't protect me from the creatures that inhabit the forest." She would tell Crook shanks, who would give an unimpressed sniff in return.

"Now remember shoulders back, head up and don't you dare try to slouch Aurora." EPE continued as always, though Hermione had begun making connections between Fiore's "rules of society" and that of the wizarding world. The importance of Draco's offer on the first train ride was now much more obvious to her when she had some insider information. Draco had actually been offering Harry equality of stations, probably so he could benefit off Harry's celebrity, despite the fact Harry would in a traditional sense (due to his mother being of "common stock") be lower than him. The reasoning for Draco's rather pathetic attempt at cultivating an alliance aside most of what she learnt still felt rather useless, particularly trapped within the her gilded cage.

She'd probably have gone mad if it wasn't for her independent time. It was during the small window of freedom that Hermione studied the theoretical elements of soul magic and replicated her learnings. Hermione did however bemoan the fact that there were no potion books, or at least none of the type she required. As a result her potions skills were probably abysmal now, due to lack of practice – not many opportunities for ashwinder eggs or accromula venom in Fiore. Or cauldrons actually.

After successfully creating and holding the shield for more than half an hour Hermione, growing bored, moved onto her next spell.

Hermione ran through the specified movements of the spell again and again until the deadly dance flowed one 'kata' into another. She'd been attempting to perfect this spell for months however, today Hermione finally found that crucial step for the spell and with a faint popping noise accompanying her, she separated from her soul from her body for the first time. It was a very strange sensation being separated from her body, oxymoronic would be the best way to describe it. She was both attached and disconnected to her body; She could feel the spine of the text book digging into her spine, but at the same time the awareness was distant and fragile.

This development was very exciting as it would allow her to finally investigate her new magic in full rather than just theoretically. Soul magic so far had been more about will power and inner strength and Hermione was very curious about the whole thing.

The most obvious of the theoretical aspects that she'd only read about were most certainly the strings. They sprung from every object, animate and inanimate. Hermione had vague memories about the Chinese folklore about "red strings of fate" which tied a person to another and stipulated that they would meet or marry regardless of place, time or circumstance.

Hermione took to investigating these assumptions with gusto and was surprised to see that the idea wasn't actually that false, rather it was more misunderstood than anything else. Whilst certain mated animals had red string tying them together, careful study revealed that these 'bond' broke once the mating season was and that on the rare occasion that romantic couples wandered anywhere near the castle, their strings frayed easily and had to constantly repair themselves. Another curious thing, were the 'knots' she identified. It was harder to classify each type of knot since there were so few humans around to study but so far Hermione had classified rivals, parents, lovers, familiars (this was the type of knot that tied herself and Crookshanks together) friends, lost friends and siblings. The siblings knot, curiously enough was not specifically about blood she was pleased to note.

Another fascinating development that occurred once she'd pushed past that Hermione found that she could 'trace' the stronger strings to where they 'finished'. When she tugged on pair of yellow strings she found herself watching her parents eating silently at the dinner table, an open seat where she had once sat. Further visits saw them walking through the park with what looked to be Percy Weasley. Unfortunately maintaining such connections was much more difficult than she thought it be and one painful snapping sensation later she was back in her body.

With the progress made Hermione followed it up with ruthless determination 'picking' at every string strong enough to maintain a connection, which were few and far between. The bronze string was example of these stronger strings. It split and stretched to two different places. One showed Ron, who was often soaring through a hurricane of some kind, his grin careless and his eyes alight with life. He seemed to be completely in sync with the storm, the very essence of his magic bleeding into the air. Ron's joy brought a spark of warmth to her heart, which recently felt like it was freezing over.

Harry's string, froze her heart once more. Whilst Hermione was fairly certain he wasn't dead, he didn't have the same glow that Ron had. His surroundings were dark and his eyes were closed as if sleeping, yet every time she looked at him he was "sleeping". Another oddity was the overwhelming presence of his magic. Harry had always been strongly gifted in terms of raw magic, but what she was seeing was insane, his magic seemed to fill the dark chamber, a throbbing presence that glowed brilliant green and formed notes of music or shape of people. The nauseating combination of ballooning power and abrupt stillness forced her to stop looking.

The final and arguably the strongest tied her together with a man in his early forties, wearing a ratty black cloak, snoring under a tree, a stuff sack under his neck. Like Harry he had a huge magical presence though it wasn't as nauseating as Harry's. However, Hermione was confused as to why they were connected at all since she'd never met the man. She was utterly flummoxed.

Here explorations of the day were disrupted when the grandfather clock was chiming 6 already. Knowing that she only had 15 minutes to get downstairs to the dining room, Hermione forwent her normal habit of note writing and simply zoomed out the room.

"Sorry I'm late Miss Heart, I just made some real headway with my magic!" Hermione rushed, slipping into her plush chair just as Miss Heart pushed the trolley into the dining hall.

"My, that's wonderful Princess," Miss heart replied sweetly placing another meal of drab soup in front of her. "What's this?" Miss Heart said stretching forward and grabbing _something_ that felt like a part of her. "Oh just some lint." Miss Heart said carrying on.

"Ow!" Hermione yelped, rubbing her shoulder tenderly.

"Your highness?" She gave her another smile, and despite the comforting gesture Hermione still leaned away, her hand gripping her shoulder in a protective stance. "Aurora?" Miss Heart wore a hurt expression but Hermione noticed that her eyes flickered black for a few moments.

"Nothing Miss Heart I must have pulled a muscle without realising it in all the excitement, um do you mind if I take this to bed, I think I'll have an early night." Hermione said giving her a weak smile. Hermione drank her soup quickly, her nervous eyes darting over the rim of her bowl to watch Miss Heart who stood quite peaceably by her side.

"Now your highness, I think it be best you had an early night, you look quite tired."Miss heart told her as her packed everything away.

Hermione yawned in response, how odd, she did feel tried. A good night's sleep would probably do a world of good. Soon, after a little faffing, Hermione was heading back up to her room and she was donning that evening's nightgown. Her hair was unpinned and re-plaited. Miss Heart waved goodbye leaving Hermione to finish up her meal and fall asleep.

Unfortunately sleep never did come that night. She continued to feel uncomfortably heavy, as if there was a weight pressing down on her throat. Eventually she gave up and sat up, choosing to write up the notes she skipped on during the rush of her discovery.

It was probably around midnight when she felt something tug at the back if her neck. Ignoring the sensation did not work and before she knew it Hermione was falling out of her body once again and drifting in the direction of the window. Her yelp went unheard, even by Crookshanks who was curled into a ball atop her pillow.

A glance below her feet showed she was flying straight over the countryside and forest, leaving the castle behind.

"Who am I to resist fate?" Hermione growled, sarcasm included, ass he tumbled to her destination.

The string, fate, whatever you want to call it, took her to an empty campsite. The tent was pitched and the supplies scattered chaotically. In summary it was a pigsty.

"Right what is exactly I'm supposed to be doing oh ye gods of fate?" Hermione asked the twinkling stars with a good deal of distaste. "And if you say clean it up, I'm telling you I'm not a miracle worker, I doubt scourgify maximus would succeed in cleaning that pot." Hermione poked what seemed to be living mould as she spoke.

"Your gods what you to clean my camp? Thank you gods of maid fairies!" A deep voice chimed. Hermione gave an unladylike shriek in response.

Finding out that the source of her terror was the scruffy man from the silver she felt her fear lesson considerably - the fact she was currently intangible was in no way related. "I am not a maid fairy!" She told him hotly.

"Sure you are, you glow, you float and you're wearing a maid costume, therefore you're a maid fairy. Simple logic." The man said dumping the firewood he had gathered onto his modified fire place –read hole in the ground. He gave her a pleased expression and pointed to the habitat of the living mould. "And those haven't been cleaned in months."

"I'd love to really, but I'd rather not be charged with murder," Hermione said dead panning. "And I am not wearing a maid costume."

"You're not? Those your pyjamas? They had weird clothes in the old days." The man said with shrug.

"Old days? What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione probed with a frown. He was calling her weird? Did he know he was bare chested underneath his cloak, thus nullifying the whole point of a cloak?

"You know the old days, a long time ago, the past." He said, jabbing at his campfire.

Hermione gave a huff of annoyance. "But I'm not from the past." Ignoring the man's slightly flummoxed expression.

"Wait you mean you're nor a ghost?" He asked.

"No I am not a ghost!" Hermione replied stormily, a fierce frown marring her face. "First I was maid fairy now I'm a dead! Hmph."

"Ehh, I was kinda pulling your leg on the whole fairy thing, but seriously you're not dead?" He seemed to be genuinely surprised, so some of her aggravation settled a bit.

"No, I use soul magic." She told him proudly. When he showed no sign of recognition she pursed her lips and continued. "My body is sleeping in my bed, my soul or mind is here conversing with you."

"Huh. Well that's a new one, Soul Magic." The man said, stoking his stubble. "I suppose Strauss transformation Soul stems from the same branch

"I was under the impression ghosts weren't seen in Fiore?" Hermione queried. It was a strange assumption to make in this world.

"Eh, not as rare as you'd think, but I've never heard of just Soul magic, animal soul sure, beast soul, even machina soul but never just Soul magics. Must be the lost root magic."

"Lost magic?" It was now Hermione's turn to be confused, her texts of course had alluded to the 'roots' of particular branches of magics but never in the conations of being lost.

"Umm, Lost magic, a way of magic that hasn't been practiced for over 200 years." The man said looking up from his fire, frowning at her response. "At least that's the technical definition."

"huh, I suppose that does make sense, 200 years would give a large enough generational gap." Hermione, said coming to float near him. "I never had it explained like that. How common is magic in Fiore?" She asked curiously.

"You don't know? You've got a pretty crappy teacher then," he said cleaning his ears out.

"I'm mostly self-taught though I suppose the writer of my book could be considered a partial teacher." Hermione confessed, a little embarrassed about not knowing something that was so basic for this mage.

"Seriously! Even Natsu knew the basics and his teacher was a frickn' Dragon!" Gildarts said, eyes wide as he sat up with a start. "And your playing around with a lost magic!" The volume of his exclamations had continued to rise in both pitch and amplitude. "Are your guardians stupid?!" He sounded genuinely worried now.

"Since my parents are both non-magical and separated from me I don't see how their intelligence would factor into my training." Hermione told him coldly.

"Sorry, sorry!" The man said reigning himself in. "Are you on your own then, cause that's not really healthy either." His concern was growing as the girl revealed more information. As a general rule mage children learnt to take care of themselves from an early age but when left unattended or untrained their powers had a history of running amock. Travelling mages would often train the more isolated mage children for a month to avoid any major problem. Even if the girl seemed to have her magic well in hand it was never good to leave it to chance.

"No I have a caretaker. So I'm not on my own." She replied wilfully, setting her shoulders back.

"And is she magical?" Was his immediate rebuttal, he was standing up now and his great size sent a tendril of fear shooting through Hermione.

"Well, she, I, I don't really know," She replied rather meekly.

"Wait your living on your own with a caretaker, who you don't know something as fundamental as their magic, whilst practising an unknown lost art. When is this going to start sounding good?" He questioned, this really did not sound good or even vaguely healthy.

"Look its complicated I thinks she's magical, I mean she's done magic and you can't keep a place like that running well without magic and I know her plenty well thank you very much." Hermine said trying to pull together some of her famed stubbornness.

"But you don't know what type of mage she is? Where she studied? What guild was she a part of?" He battered on, ramming his point home.

"Guild?" She blinked owlishly.

"Seriously? You don't know what a guild is? Even the villagers on the Galalu islands know about guilds and they're demons!" If it wasn't such a serious issue, Gildarts (for that was his name) might have found the whole thing quite funny. As it was, it seemed like a very gifted mage had been isolated (probably kidnapped), separated from her parents and attempting to learn a _lost magic_ from a book with a caretaker of a dubious nature, none of which sounded good and was getting progressively worse.

"Yes, well I've only been in Fiore for six months and I don't need to be told off by a stranger living in a pigsty thank you very much." Hermione agitation and anxiety clawing at her chest as the man's (valid) points rammed home.

The man took a deep breathe. Standing up he held out his hand. "My name's Gildarts Clive, what's yours?"

Hermione looked at him for a few moments before curtsying. "Hermione Granger, I'm afraid I can't shake your hand." The man, Gildarts, nodded his acceptance.

"See, now I'm a concerned acquaintance." Gildarts told her with a smile. Despite their introduction Hermione kept her posture closed, the rapid questioning making her hostile. With a sigh he sat down again and removed his flask from his pocket, further questioning wasn't going to work. He was going to have to offer up another means of communication. "Look it's pretty late, I'll still be here this time tomorrow and for the next couple of weeks so you can ask me any questions you can't ask your… caretaker. I'm an S-class mage, that's a qualification for mages, so I should be able to give you some practical pointers. Maybe I can explain to you how things work here in Fiore, since you're, ah, new and all.

"I, okay, I'll be here tomorrow." Hermione said, a glance to her left showed the silver coloured string was glowing again and she was able to move, waving awkwardly she hovered shakily into the air and then was off, seeing the man get gradually smaller.

More months passed and eventually April turned into June. Gildarts, as promised stayed within crossable distance and their evenings together, for Hermione, were an odd combination exasperation and awe.

Awe, because, Gildarts Clive on further study was the most powerful magical being she had ever encountered, far outstripping the like of Dumbledore or McGonagall in terms of sheer power. A twitch of his fingers could see one of the mountains behind the keep, explode in a fiery explosion. Exasperation because the man was something of an idiot, with a well-earned reputation for unintended destruction due to overexcitement. According to him, his home town had rebuilt there city with him in mind, after the fifth time he had levelled the city.

The evenings were also quite fun, Hermione had to admit. Gildarts would tease and mock her in a way that reminded her of her evening fire chats with the boys back at Hogwarts. He was also, despite his scatter-brained nature, a competent teacher. Hermione learnt about various topics that the Castles books didn't cover, simply because they were so basic in Fiore.

Hermione had come to care for the funny old man. She despaired about his attire, or lack of but he seemed to find her qualms amusing and she'd had been quite sad when he told her he had to go to the capitol for a while. Apparently during one of his searches for the Black dragon Acnoligia he had created an extension of the Phoenix mountain range. Again. This was apparently too much for the council who had demanded Gildarts travel to Crocus. When he invariably refused the first 23 summons they played dirty and sent a letter with blackmail photos attached (what the photos were exactly Hermione did not want to know). So off he went though he promised to come back, claiming he'd earnt a vacation and the Phoenix Vale Mountains were quite relaxing.

Gildarts had promised to ask various contacts if they heard any rumours about a weather mage with a funny accent and bright red hair and a sleeping but not sleeping raven haired child. Hermione doubted it would be of much uses but she appreciated the gesture.

As a result Hermione had to find a new way of occupying herself in the evenings after growing quite bored of the control exercises Gildarts had recommended. Instead she chose to build on the principles she'd learnt from her books and come up with her own interpretations. Recently she'd been devloping "contact lenses" spell. Hermione was sure she would be able to replicate the 'sight' she had when she was separated from her body without having to go the full mile and leave her body vulnerable. Her working theory was that using the energy she produced, she could create a film coating over her eyes and so far she'd been proven correct. She'd successfully created the lenses however the filtering of colour was proving to be a delicate and difficult job. Today she was testing how layers of magic might affect the filtering, so centering herself she began doing just that. The first couple of attempts proved to fail spectacularly and it wasn't until she started tailoring her magic on one particular eye did she find success; the strings of fate were clear, coloured and visible.

Much later Hermione would wonder if it had been fate intervening when Miss Heart had walked in just as she had successfully completed the spell. That afternoon Hermione finally saw her Caretaker's true colours, the colours her cat had seen from the very beginning.


	3. Aurora Part 3

"Grey strings." Hermione whispered in horror as she stared at Miss Heart. She felt her throat convulse as the woman went unnaturally still. "Inanimates have grey strings, why do you have grey strings? Miss Heart?" Hermione whispered backing away from the…the abomination., whose soul string was so twisted and knotted that it appeared to be connected to no one.

"Princess Aurora?" Miss Heart's expression didn't change, but the smile that Hermione had seen as gift of comfort seemed plastic now, tinged by a hint of unstable sanity.

"I am NOT Princess Aurora, my NAME is Hermione Jane Granger, my parents' names were Dr Dan Granger and Dr…Dr what was my mother's name?" Hermione stared in front of her with glazed eyes as an important aspect of her life, the woman who had given birth to her remained a nameless entity. Digging through her mind she realised how many things she could not remember, things as simple as her address or the name of her primary school.

"I'm sorry Hermione." The Miss Heart told her voice sweet and melodious as ever. The fact she used her actual name sent a ball of bile surging up her throat, casuing her to stumble backwards. She had known she wasn't Aurora. She wasn't a grieving and loyal servant yearning for her supposedly deceased charge. She had known all along and had been playing with her the whole time. "It seems you'll be moving on sooner than intended."

Hermione let out a wave of instinctive magic and froze when a haze formed around Miss Heart, and with sound similar to glass shattering the illusion fell.

 _It,_ was a corpse made of rotting flesh. She didn't have a face but rather a skull with rotting flesh hanging from the bone, bright as a lantern in the dark. Her eyes were completely black, no iris, no pupil; nothing but inky darkness which seemed to pull the very spirit of the room into its unhinged depths.

A ball of fuzzy orange fur suddenly streaked towards Miss Heart, scratching and mauling at _it._ Miss Heart brought up a grim hand and threw the furious cat against the wall.

"My, my, so you're what I've been sensing. I thought maybe it had been some sort of mouse but no it was a cat. You were always gone by the time I got there and I still can't guess how you got in. What a clever kitty you are," She cooed. Then she raised her hand and an obsidian goo dropped from her palm and floated for a few moments. Then the glob trapped the retreating Crook Shanks inside of it, seemingly swallowing him, spitting it out the closed window in a spray of glass and metal.

"CROOK SHANKS!" Hermione screamed as her familiar was cannoned out the window. With the attack, Hermione snapped out of her stupor and threw herself in the direction of her staff, her only means of physical defence.

Faster than she thought possible, Miss Heart had her hands attached to her waist, yanking her away from her focus and had smashed her into a nearby wall. Despite the pain such an impact invoked, Hermione still fought, lashing out with every spell she knew and could perform wandlessly – even some that she couldn't. Miss Heart laughed at her struggles, quickly immobilizing Hermione and wrapping her hands round her throat – her bladed nails cutting into to the soft flesh and causing blood to seep through her fingers.

"You were so much stronger than the others you know, now if only you hadn't been so smart." Miss Heart hissed. "Not the sweetest soul perhaps, but that will," Miss heart breathed with please.

Terror and agony bolted through Hermione and in a last ditch effort Hermione yanked on the silver string that had led her to Gildarts.

 _In Crocus: Magic council reprisal of Gildarts Clive_

"….Destroyed various…"

"…created unthinkable chaos…"

"…made the lives of…."

Meaningless words floated through the extraordinarily bored S-class Mages head. It was the fourth time some pompous jackass had ranted about the exact same thing. To be quite honest he still wasn't sure what they were all so pissed about, I mean sure the ley line transportation was a little messed up now but it had always been a little screwy, a line changed locations with the birth of every Mage and disappeared after old mages finally kicked the bucket. As for upsetting farm land, sure a lot of it had been lost in the 'construction' of the new mountains but it's not like they were being used very well. They'd been growing gourmet fruit of all thing. Some real expensive nonsense that was neither filling nor nutritious.

Plus these old codgers had done far worse when they were around his age – hell he knew for a fact, that the old lady third from the right, was the reason the grave yard sea was as f****** up as it was.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO US AT ALL!" A voice screeched out, looking up he could see that it was the weird helium guy.

"Not much, truthfully." Gildarts told them quite frankly.

"HOW DARE YOU SHOW SUCH BLANTENT DISRESP-" suddenly all sound seemed to disappear and all he could hear was Hermione's agonized scream. The scream overwhelmed everything, overshadowing the accompanying agony and drowning out any other voice.

"Hermione?" He croaked when a figure materialized before him, who shared an uncanny resemblance Hermione. It wasn't her, he knew that. When in her incorporeal form she would glow like a firecracker. The spirit was wreathed in mist and looked terrified.

She floated back and forth between himself and her original spot, pointing frantically towards the door.

"Follow?" Gildarts asked, the pain had dulled immensely by this point, but it was still difficult to speak. The spirit nodded zooming out the room. Gildarts ignored the officials and followed the ghost.

It came to stop next to a portrait of a stunning mountain-side castle though the spirit paid the painting no mind at all. Instead she pushed her hand through a nearby panel and gestured for Gildarts to do the same. Doing so, he was shocked to discover that the panelling wasn't solid, instead it was akin to mud or goo than stone or plaster.

His fingertips brushed up against something that was cold and a little grimy under his fingertips. Pulling the object through the viscous panel, he found himself staring down at a large brass key. The spirit nodded frantically and pointed to a nearby painting of a stylized door. He did as instructed and had his fear not been so consuming he would have stared for much longer as the painting opened in a shower of dust and dormant magic. The painting led into a long stone corridor coated in dust.

The not Hermione zoomed through the archway and sped through corridors, Gildarts hot on her tail. Eventually they were close enough to Hermione that Gildarts could hear her agonized pleas for mercy with a clarity that would haunt his dreams for years to come.

He ran through countless corridors and stair ways until he reached the room Hermione was trapped within and in a fit of uncontrolled rage Gildarts blew the door off its hinges with his fist, promptly ignoring the drain on his magic. That's when he saw her, his student and surrogate child strapped to a table top flesh ripped from her body and her blood splashed across the walls.

"Hermione!" He shouted running towards her, only to collide with a boulder. Said boulder was actually a very beautiful woman, or at least she seemed very beautiful until Hermione let out a pulse of pure magic. The woman's façade crumbled leaving the shell to the harsh light.

She gave an animalistic hiss before throwing herself at Gildarts once more, clawed hands raised. For a few minutes they grappled, the insane strength of the walking corpse overpowering Gildarts until he was finally able to unleash a spell utterly destroying the thing. Its innards were now mixed with Hermione blood and Gildarts only felt a surge of violent satisfaction at her gory demise.

A gargled plea for help sent Gildarts rushing over to the tortured child, and ripping the chains from her small wrists.

"Gil-Gil…Gildarts," Hermione breathed in relief, blood loss making her words weak and barely audible. With the restrainer gone, Gildarts could see the full extent of the damage done to her, there were chunks of flesh missing from her left leg, great claw marks on arms and flesh wounds upon her cheeks.

Hermione was a mess, a horrifying nightmare inducing mess and Gildarts could feel her heart beat beginning to falter in his arms. He needed to get her back to Crocus.

Cradling the child to his chest he ran back to the passageway.

The audience that greeted them as they crossed back through the portrait promptly lost the contents of their stomach at the sight of his student. Gildarts snarled and one of the less bone headed attendants rushed off to fetch a healer. Gildarts could only hope they weren't too late.

Inexplicably Hermione did survive. On the day of Hermione's attack the greatest medical minds of Fiore had been gathering for a conference their combination of knowledge and magic had kept the girl alive and mostly in one piece. The Time afforded to them by the emergency specialists had allowed another doctor to replace her missing flesh with a functioning prosthetic which meant Hermione didn't actually lost her leg. Gildarts wouldn't pretend to know what exactly they had done or how they'd done it. The substitute, or prosthetic was odd though, it was stark white against her darker complexion and seemed completely out of place. Her side had been healed but it was still littered with scars, her wrists and ankle were still burnt horribly but nothing but time could heal those.

The worst thing though wasn't the prosthetic or the burn or even the bandages wrapped around her throat. No, it was her utter silence.

Her ward was always so quiet that every squeaking step and rumbling wheel could be heard 10 minutes before the sounds source could be seen. The only sound Gildarts ever heard consistently was Hermione's haggard breathing. The nurses, dressed in uniform grey, would enter the glass room and fiddle with various pieces of equipment every so often but other than that the ward was devoid of life.

Hermione was loud, brash, opinionated and stubborn. She picked at topics most ignored and could rant about the injustices of the world for hours at a time. She was supposed to glow with a kind of energy that only she possessed. Gildarts fists would always clench with fury when he thought of that _thing_ and how it had taken that light. The cadavre had scarred her skin and wrecked her mind, leaving her fractured and alone in a place Gildarts couldn't reach her.

Her Magic had recovered within a couple of days, which had astounded the healers but the recovery of her magic did nothing to wake her. The doctors claimed it was a self-inflicted coma. Hermione still didn't feel safe, so she had retreated into her mind, a place that was so much safer than the outside world. They said it could be anything between three days to 10 years before she woke up. Despite the diagnosis or maybe because of it, Gildarts spent most of his nights in ward talking to her trying to get her to wake up.

Some of the guild had come to visit at one point. They wanted to see the child that their strongest grieved for. The master had reminded Gildarts that he still needed to complete his quest and whilst he knew this, it was still difficult to leave. The knowledge that if he'd been a little closer, just a little faster she might be awake kept him at her bedside.

He felt physically ill when he considered that if had visited her just _once_ he might have been able to stop Hermione from ever being hurt in the first place.

"Anything yet?" An intelligence officer asked, as he slouched against the wall, his sword spinning idly in his palm.

"Not yet," Lahar, Captain of the 4th custody Enforcement unit replied his eyes never leaving the scroll in his hand. They had been allowed access to the castle 2 weeks ago and the council was desperate for some answers. The machine that Gildarts student had been strapped to, had all the marks of a Zeref creation. To make matters worse, the castle had been quickly identified as the property of the royal family, so they had become involved and when the royal family was involved the press invariably became so as well.

Furthermore, the castle had been extremely difficult to enter as the portal way that Gildarts had used sealed itself almost immediately after they'd arrived in Crocus. This meant they'd had to find the Castle on foot and then when they got there, they had to wait for explicit permission of the king before they could even get past the gate. Even with the blessing of the Royal Family (who seemed to be the Castle's secondary masters) Lahar could feel the castle's dislike of their presence and the castle made its displeasure known quite loudly (by being very difficult). For instance the only person who had been able to touch the books was himself and thus any hope of finding the answers they were looking for amongst the hundreds of texts rested on him. The other 'blessed' knights had investigated what was left of the tower but discovered very little other than an irate cat which may or may not belong to Miss Granger.

They had found the remnants of an amulet but no one was particularly hopeful that it would give any insights. Lahar's investigation of the library had rediscovered books whose existence were regarded as mere rumour, found texts explaining the most obscure of magics, even magics that were considered myths but he found nothing pertinent that could give them answers or explanations of the remains of the horrific creature the council had discovered. Her only surviving victim, Miss Granger was still recovering in Hospital and would not be answering herself in the foreseeable future.

However, the slightly dusty, soot covered, leather bound book that they had discovered in the upper turret was of particular interesting for Lahar. The book was obviously well read; its pages were dog eared and thousands of annotations of various handwritings had been added to it. Considering there had only been sign of one other living person residing within the Castle it was safe to assume that it was the mysterious victim, Miss Granger who had studied the book.

Miss Granger was a person of interest all on her own. There was no records of any type pertaining the existence of a brown haired brown eyed child named Hermione in the local area or anywhere else for that matter. And if that didn't make the intelligence service twitchy, the fact that she met the M.O of a hundred year old serial killer certainly did.

"Hey we got a newbie?" Doranbolt piped up, looking just over Lahar's head.

"No, we do not officer," Lahar with a trace of annoyance, he'd been working for hours and he did not have the spare energy to deal with the bored intelligence officer inventing distractions.

"Okay then, whose she?" Doranbolt replied baldly, pointing to a barefooted women floating in the doorway.

"Gildarts?" A voice asked. The voice was shaky and weak from lack of use but it was there. Gildarts sat up with a start, eyes wide.

"Hermione?" Gildarts croaked, eyes watering suspiciously.

"Gildarts were am I?" Hermione asked her voice was stronger now but her eyes were disconcertingly distant. "They're telling our story now."

"Story?" Gildarts asked doubtfully, then his stomach tried to escape through his throat when he got a good look at her eyes. Spinning lazily in her brown orbs, was a grey pentagram that flickered in and out of existence proving that Hermione was certainly not in control.

"hmm," Hermione hummed with agreement smiling again. "Of the Aurora's falling into wonderland, though there wasn't much wonder."

"Hermione?" Gildarts asked, an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach, the joy of seeing her awake fading and the terror that once her story was told she would simply fade away; like a phantom in a ghost story.

"She was the Queen of Hearts you see, off with their heads she calls and out with their hearts." Hermione giggled inappropriately.

The girl was dressed in simple nightgown, her sleek brown hair held back by a circlet of Lacrima on

"Aurora," Lahar breathed. "Princess Aurora…" the spirit nodded kindly. Lahar recognised the girl from her portrait in the Royal castle.

"Princess who?" Doranbolt asked.

"Princess Aurora, the first Princess of Fiore. She was a sickly child so she was sent here to get away from the city. Her personal court disappeared some 5 years later, there were rumour of a plague." Lahar continued, utterly shocked by the spirits presence.

"It was when the Mage Zeref's cultist were at their peak," Hermione spoke, her voice still light and airy, devoid of genuine emotion. "Would you like to hear their story?" The pentagrams glowing so bright now, that they drowned out the brown. She gave her teacher a hollow smile.

"Sure," Gildarts said quietly, taking one of her hands, as if to anchor her back to reality.

"Well it started a long, long time ago. When the world was younger and the Royalty was new. The youngest daughter of the conquering king was born and such a sweet baby she was, all smiles and pretty giggles. All who met her adored her and none more so than the king himself."

"King Florian right?" Gildarts said, his knowledge of history of history was patchy at best but even he could remember the first King of Fiore.

"Yes, the Princess was named after King you know, originally. They called her Florence, like the city." Hermione continued dreamily. Gildarts, who had an extensive knowledge knew there was no city called Florence on the eastern continent but kept quiet. "They only called her Aurora later, because the King couldn't bear to hear her name spoken."

Gildarts nodded.

"The Princess was powerful too, so strong in magic that she outstripped the king in terms of raw magic. The Princess was a Soul Mage," Hermione said smiling, the dream like quality did not waver in her voice.

"Like you," Gildarts said, trying to remind his student. Hermione nodded, still smiling.

"Yes, the princess was a target though, many had heard of her great power but weak strength and tried to take her power. When she reached her twelfth birthday the king ordered her to be hide away. Only the King knew the location, the princess didn't and neither did her court."

"Wait, the first king's kid? You're saying that Zombie thing killed the lost princess?" Doranbolt questioned, jaw hanging open

"It makes a great deal of sense, this Keep would have been completely inaccessible during the first kings rein. Yet she disappears only five years after going into hiding?" Lahar said excitedly – a rare emotional feat.

"Why she go into hiding?" Doranbolt asked, they had begun following the sad spirit through the maze of corridors.

"Well there are many theories but the likeliest is some war lord threatened her. The Princess was said to have access to a huge concentration of magic, though the specifics are kind of vague."

"The princess studied and lived with her court for three years of peace, her father visiting regularly as the Princess grew stronger and stronger."

"How did it get in?" Gildarts asked with morbid curiosity.

"They killed a baby," She told her voice dropping, tears forming in her eyes, they fell with distinct plopping sound as they dispersed on the disinfected tiles. "The Healer and a maid had a baby, so they left the castle to visit their family. While visiting, a demon took the child and killed it. They replaced the baby with one of their master's creations – a Cadevre, the aging corpse."

"At some point they must have infiltrated the Princess's court and started the plague, the infiltrator would have then used that Machine to drain the Princess's magic." Lahar said, his excitement quelled somewhat as a picture of Miss Granger's body after the attack appeared on the files third page.

"Yeah but the first King ruled nearly 300 years ago, are they a copycat?" Doranbolt said, tugging his friend after the spirit after she took an unexpected turn. The turn took them into the lower levels of the keep where the doors were fewer but bigger and the torches lit up as they walked.

Lahar was puzzled now. Doranbolt was right, why would someone randomly restart a killing method that was half a millennia old and hadn't been heard of since. He reopened the file on the criminal and sifted through the autopsy report on what was left of the kidnapper. There he spotted a small footnote:

*the deceased's accelerated decomposition may have been due to the dark magic tattoo on the undersides of the phalanges.

Lahar flicked back to the relevant page and spotted the tattoo, his stomach dropped as he recognised the symbol imbedded on the inside of her hand. Zeref's mark.

"The Cadavere brought with it a disease that would shut down every organ system in the host's body until eventually only a rotting carcass is left." Hermione said, voice deceptively even. "Desperate to save her court the princess tied what was left of the court spirits to the castle. She tied the chef to the kitchens, the maids to the rooms and the gardener's to the gazebo. Eventually the princess fell to the disease too, so she tied herself in as well, in the hope her father would discover a cure in the years to come."

"And the Cadavere?" Gildarts asked, the story was a horror story come to life, equal to or perhaps worse than the terrors he was sent to fight.

"It aged itself so that it was big enough to feed off the frozen bodies of the court and followed the instructions Zeref left her – drain the princess of her spirit and magic."

They had to be right underneath the castle's centre by now, Doranbolt thought to himself. They'd been following after the sadly departed teenager for a good hour and Lahar was battaling his inner historian as he considered all the impacts that this discovery would entail and understanding that this was a recent abduction and grooming case so investigating it from a historians perspective would be extremely insensitive.

Then all of sudden she came to a stop and floated upwards a little and phased through a rotten door. Lahar stopped his mutterings to glance at his comrade. With a nod, Doranbolt teleported them into the room.

"But it was never enough, the Cadavere didn't have magic of her own and the power that came with magic caused her to rebel. She still had the rest of the castle to feed off and keep her hunger at bay, she didn't need Zeref. He didn't seem to care all that much, all he wanted to know was if the experiment was a success."

"Experiment," Gildarts asked horrified. That monstrosity was an experiment?

"Hmm," Hermione said, unbothered in her magical trance. "So the Cadavere began to lure in female mages, specifically those with high levels of spirit – did you know that the more spirit you have the weaker your body is? I think my friend Harry was like that, he was really scrawny and weak and was pushed around a lot, but he still hung onto his compassion, I wouldn't have been able I think, maybe I'm not." The magic in her eyes had dulled slightly, allowing Hermione to resurface.

Gildarts said nothing but gathered the girl in a fierce hug, communicating his support.

"Thank you," Hermione said a small spark of her normal warmth returning to her eyes. Taking a shuddering breath she continued. "She never changed, no matter the age or history of the woman, she'd always call them princess, she'd ban them from going outside, she'd teach them etiquette, poise and the rules of high society. She'd make them care about her and then and then…" Hermione snapped at this point, tears falling thick and fast. "They couldn't fight back, she'd, she'd consume them, rip them to shreds. There was nothing to bury!" She wailed.

Gildarts rocked her back and forth, occasionally wiping her face.

"I want to go home; I want my Mum, I want my dad and I want to go home." Hermione wept. Gildarts could do nothing to fulfil her pleas but he tried to dull the ache by offering her solace.

The room was warm and rather like a greenhouse, humid with an earthy quality to the air. It was also surprisingly bright. "Sun spells," Lahar muttered. The room was also overgrowing with flora.

The next thing they noticed were the women that sat, stood or reclined in various parts of the room. There were 18 of them, each wearing clothes from a different decade. The princess stood in the very centre of the room a sad smile on her lips. She gestured to the other spirits around the room, all of whom moved from their previous position to stand in front of particular patches of flowers.

"Lana Hills," Doranbolt, she was a cold case file he'd studied for his promotion exam. "Mage and child carer." He whispered. Her case had been cold for 43 years.

"You recognise them?" Lahar asked, he knew his friend had worked in the recovery section of the intelligence service before he'd been promoted.

"Some," Doranbolt whispered. "Molly Jane – 15 disappeared 30 years ago healer potential, Cassie Evans age 30 last known holder of the system keys celestial mage, missing 29 years. Daniella Heartifilia mage unspecified, age 14 missing 40. Lorena Goodheart, age 21, air mage, missing 7 years. Penelope Write, ten years old, unspecified magic, recommended for priestess training, missing 2 years."

Doranbolt realised there were at least 11 others whom he didn't recognise, though the style of their clothes suggested that they had lived more than 80 years ago.

"She needed more," Lahar said all colour vanishing from his pallor. "Zeref's magic was wearing off so she needed more magic to sustain her." Looking at the flowers again a sudden memory of his mother's flower shop came to mind.

White roses - silence and innocence; Azalea - temperate, fragile; Eglantine roses - healer, healing; Baby Breath - fragile, unassuming; White Lilac - youthful innocence; Magnolia and Protea - grief, pain and courage; Honeysuckle - devotion, camaraderie; Lavender- dreamer.

Those were just the plants he recognised. "Grave flowers," He whispered. Another titbit of the Granger file popped up – Flesh from the upper thigh completely removed. "There no bodies to bury were there?" He asked the spirits. Penelope Write shook her head.

Penelope stepped forward and spoke. "Give peace to the soul, she knows our stories and wake the sleeper," And with that she was gone.

"The Sleeper?" Lahar muttered at the odd phrase.

Another woman, Daniella Heartifilia stepped forward. "Once the moon has set only the Survivor and the blood of the perished may enter, find them and they may bring you."

"I thought that it was just fortune tellers who had to be vague." Doranbolt groaned. Despite the whinge he knew pretty easily what the second message was: you got till sunrise to scram and only the women's relatives, and possibly Granger, will be able to renter Castle. "Right, I'll go inform the superiors, they're not going to like it though." He added teleporting out with a faint, and forced, grin.

"Miss Granger, your recovery is nothing short of miraculous. I've never seen anything like it! Your magic seems to be adapting to the foreign material in your leg, the scars on your ribs will fade considerably in the coming months and your burn scars are healing very nicely." The smarmy doctor crooned, making Hermione more annoyed by the minute, whilst undoubtedly a genius, the man was in need of a good smack to the head and her staff had come perilously close to doing just that.

During her months of rehab, Hermione had put some considerable effort into the staff she wielded. Her first staff had been rather slap dash, created out of necessity rather than care, but her new staff was a work of art.

It was perfectly balanced, about five inches longer than her (and enchanted to grow in tandem with her) and just the right weight. The vine wood of her wand had been shaved and then blended with the pine like wood from the forest just outside of Crocus and her wands core placed in its exact centre.

The best thing though, had to be its ability to change into both a hair pin and a bracelet meaning she would never, ever be trapped without her staff ever again. Gildarts had also promised to train her in non-magical combat in the months to come so the next time she had to fight she would be ready and would not need to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

Furthermore, Hermione had decided that she was going to be improving the smarmy doctor's prosthetics, so that they would work better with what remained of her right leg. At the moment it was unacceptably stiff and heavy, which was tolerable, mostly due to the hours Hermione had spent balancing on ridiculous platform heels and keeping her puffy skirts from getting tangled but not acceptable.

After receiving her clean(ish) bill of health Hermione left Crocus a mere three hours later finding the overwhelming numbers of citizen discomforting. She did, before she left, make a promise though – a quest of sorts. She was going to track down and explain exactly what happened to Miss Hearts various victims to their families. She knew how horrible it felt to not know anything about what was happening to your family and at least the knowledge she could provide might bring a little peace of mind for them.

It would take a while that much was obvious, but as the only survivor Hermione felt that their descendants should know and not live by assumptions. Then when that was done she would start tracking down her friends and then, only then would she turn her mind to returning to earth.


	4. Tempest

X771 – The dragons – Ron

Ron moaned as his awareness returned to him. He was in agony. Bone-deep aches spread through his limbs, making his breathing ragged and harsh. Something cold and hard stroked his cheek comfortingly, a distant rumble of thunder resonated around him.

"Help…" Ron croaked as the pain intensified.

Hatchling, the pain will stop soon a voice echoed in his mind. If pain hadn't addled his thoughts Ron would have screamed. Instead the mental presence gave him comfort. He leaned back into the voice searching for relief, whimpering all the while.

_#

Caliban watched the fascinating child in front of him. He had seen other human hatchlings before of course, humans were so many it was hard not to. But this child called to him in a way that he had never experienced before. Grandeeny had said it was fate pointing out his successor, but as always Caliban was sceptical. Grandeeny had been spewing such sentiments from the moment she could piece together her own thoughts. The hatchlings pain made him uncomfortable, despite the knowledge that if he hadn't cast the transformation spell, the hatchling would be dead. The fall from the portal should have killed his fragile human body.

The spell rectified that, making it strong. Caliban could see his first layer of scales forming, the greyish purple distinct against his freckled, pale skin and vibrant flame coloured hair.

Dragon lungs, fangs, scales, senses and magic forming as the spell transformed the little mage from an unknown location into the dragon Slayer he needed to be to live.

Caliban wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this. He was the dragon of storms and like storms was volatile, unpredictable and certainly not "parent" material. He went were the storms took him. Yet… somehow he could not bring himself to leave the hatchling alone and helpless.

He grumpily rearranged himself around the boy, protecting him from the freezing winds of the storm that called to Caliban and he so desperately wanted to answer.

For the first time in a millennia Caliban ignored the tempest outside the cave and slept through it.

_#

When Ron woke up the first thing he noticed was the smell. Or smells.

Thousands of diverse scents filled his nose, making it extraordinarily difficult to focus. Moss, water, mud, soiled ice, urine, animals and another very distinct scent which reminded him of Bills lighting curse.

Eventually he made the conflicting scents settle in the back of his mind and focused on what he could hear. It was like he was under a super-sensory spell, each sound unique and discernable in a way Ron had never heard them before. The loudest of the sounds was a thudding drum beat. Bah-boom, bah-boom, bah-boom, over and over.

He opened his eyes and then shut them rapidly. Like his ears and nose, his eyes were super sensitive, making it painful to look. Then ever so slowly he reopened his eyes, gradually readjusting them to the light. He was in a cave, made of a reddish rock he remembered from his time in Egypt. Sandstone? The next thing he noticed was what he was leaning on. A dragon.

Ron yelped and tried to move away but collapsed as his feet gave way.

 **Careful hatchling, you'll break your face if you do that again**. The dragon said, no thought, he thought!?

"Dragons, dragons can't talk," Ron said disbelievingly as he looked at the colossal dragon before him. He had never seen such a large dragon, the Hungarian horntail, arguably one of the biggest dragons in the world weren't that big.

 **Right about that, fangs aren't particularly good for speaking with.**

"How… are you telepathic?" Ron asked, his state of stupor allowing him to accept (though that was somewhat debateable) the unconceivable.

 **Huh, so maybe all humans aren't stupid.** Caliban spoke with a curl of his lips, which if Ron was feeling generous might consider a smile.

"I'm talking to a telepathic dragon the size of my house. Oh Merlin, I'm dead." Ron said with another whimper.

 **That would be kind of pointless considering how much effort I went through to make you a Slayer.**

"Slayer? Make me?" Ron said fearfully it was this point that he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby puddle. He yelped and despite his malfunctioning limbs made it a good few meters away from his original spot.

His reflection was different from what it should have been. His cheekbones were sharper, his jawline stiffer, and his eyes slanted. But his irises was the most startling of all. Instead of Weasly blue, they were Amber, bright and piercing. The only thing that resembled his normal reflection was his smatterings of freckles and his brassy orange hair.

 **Calm down hatchling, your heart is gonna explode at this rate** the dragon said (thought, said- whatever) with a distinctly sniggering tone.

"What happened to me?" Ron said looking at his new reflection with fascinated horror.

 **I made you a dragon Slayer** The dragon said succinctly.

"You made me a what!?" Ron said whipping round to face the house sized dragon.

 **A dragon slayer, keep up**

"Keep up? What do you mean a dragon Slayer, Dragon slaying's illegal!"

 **It is? Huh, the council must have missed that announcement since they've been trying to off me for a while now.** The dragon said casually, one massive scratching his scaled skull idly.

"Council?" Ron said, less scared and more bewildered. The dragon before him wasn't one the mindless dragons he saw on the reserves.

The dragon looked at him shrewdly for a few moments. **Where do you come from hatchling?**

"Ottery, St. Catchpole, Devon." Ron replied immediately.

 **Hmm, and where in Earthland is that?** The dragon asked.

"Earthland? Is that some funny dragon name for earth?" He asked confused by the odd word.

 **Tell me do you recognise the word Fiore?** The dragon asked quizzically.

"Isn't that some place in Italy?" Ron answered remembering Hermione gushing about her trip to Florence.

 **Eastern continent?** The dragon seemed to have come to a conclusion of some kind but he was going to ask some more questions, just to be sure

"Asia?" Ron inquired even more confused than before.

 **No.** The dragon stood up, now instead of being the size of his house, he was half the size of Hogwarts when he was standing. **Get on.**

Not really grasping what was going on Ron obeyed, carefully climbing the massive creature, despite the ache such actions brought. Once secure between two of the spins cresting his back, the dragon padded out of the cave and took off, soaring into the cloudless skies.

 **Do you recognise anything?** The dragon asked.

Ron looked at the land bellow and tried to find his home- but nothing looked remotely familiar. The shape of the land was different. The layout of the cities were different. The trees were different. The very air felt different.

"Where am I?" Ron whispered.

 **Fiore, eastern continent, Earthland and I think you are very far from home little hatchling.** The dragon told him sadly. With a tilt of his wings the dragon switched direction and headed back to the cave Ron had woken up in.

When they landed Ron didn't even try to get off. His thoughts lost as he tried to compare the continent he had seen from the skies to the little he knew about the geography of the earth.

 **My name is Caliban, I am the dragon of storms what is your name hatchling and who is your sire?** The dragon, Caliban spoke up.

"Ron Weasly, my dad's name is Arthur Weasly." Ron replied, dully.

 **When I found you, you had been falling from a hole in the sky, do you remember why you fell?** He asked.

"We were, my best friends and I, out walking after school and Hermione had pointed out this weird plant, Syphnexes I think she said, or something like that. Crook Shanks was being weird, again, stupid cat kept attacking my pet. Then something happened and I remember… falling?" Ron said, eyes glazed over and lost. "I'm never going to see them again am I? My friends, my family."

 **I don't know. Caliban told him truthfully. When you were falling you fell too fast, it was cast my spell or let you die.** Caliban explained. **Normally I'd have just let you die** Caliban said bluntly.

"But I'm not dead?" Ron said slowly. Caliban roared with laughter (literally).

 **Nope you're not, I've given you pieces of my magic. Normal humans, even mages, can't cope with Dragon magic, so it alters it. It gives you dragon lungs, scales and senses so you can manipulate my element.**

"Storms right?"

 **Yes, my element is the chaos of the storm, eventually if you train you should be able to form hurricanes, fly and influence lightning.** Cailban said smugly as he covered the three subcategories of his gift.

"Fly? Like on your own? Without a broom?" Ron said slightly awed looking at his altered body.

 **You use to brooms to fly?** Caliban said sceptically.

"Hey don't knock it unless you've tried it," Ron retorted, then realising he was talking to a dragon about flying, felt his ears flush red with embarrassment.

The dragon bellowed with laughter. Again.

"Yeah, yeah I'm hilarious," Ron muttered mutinously.

It took a while but eventually the Dragon recovered from his fit of giggles. He carefully lifted the boy from his back and placed him in the padded crease of his elbow.

 **Sleep hatchling, you are still tired** Caliban said watching with amusement as the child immediately wriggled into the softer regions of his arm.

"Not-Ahhh- a chicken you know," Ron yawned. "I'm a boy…not, not a, hatchling." By this point he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Caliban laughed softly at his snark.

_#

6 years later

"What the hell are you waiting for Caliban? You need help with your walking cane?" A barely pubescent child, shouted as he swooped, ducked, somersaulted and soared on the outskirts of a violent storm.

 **Shut it yah hooligan** Caliban snarked back. Years with his teenage, foster son had taught him how much of a pain he must have been as hatchling. He had said similar sentiments to his own father.

"Hah, dude if you don't get your butt out here soon I'm just gonna ride the twister myself!" Ron yelled, his body was glowing with magic, his scales on the surface of his skin making the brightness of the ricocheting lightning bolts all the more dazzling.

With a powerful flap of his wings, Caliban joined his foster son, who waited impatiently on the edge of the storm. It was hard to believe that his foster son had arrived in Earthland six years ago. He still looked to be twelve maybe thirteen years old, much to Ron's eternal annoyance. He should be at least 18 by this point, big enough to really fight Caliban, instead he was stuck as a never aging brat. Eternal youth was completely overrated.

Today they were doing something really fun; Twister riding. It was one of Ron absolute favorite things to do. It was difficult and deadly, but nothing else inspired such a… a rush. Twisters were unpredictable, unnerving, and could coincide with thunderstorms. Twisters fed all three parts of his magic; lightning, wind and cloud.

It was difficult for Ron to really describe what it was like. He didn't really need to bother with explaining it – it's not like Caliban didn't know what he was talking about.

With identical smirks the two entities dived into the heart of the storm just as the first funnel began to form.

"Wahooo!" Ron roared as he was sucked into the funnel.

Hours could have passed but Ron was oblivious to it all as he let the all-consuming energy of the storm take root in his core, breathing in the very clouds as he was thrown bodily from one twister to the next. From the corner of his eye he could see Caliban doing the same thing, pushing the intensity of the storm up a couple of notches by the presence of his magic.

Eventually, the storm calmed and the two of them were left on the ground laughing hysterically as they recovered from their magic highs. The storm's done a number on the forest, Ron thought idly as he felt the waning power settled into skin, the glow of his eyes dimming in response.

 **Still think I'm old brat?** Caliban hissed, good-naturedly as rolled his strained shoulders.

"Dude, you're like 5000, course you're old." Ron said with a tired smirk.

 **Where did you learn that phrase, you haven't been near a human colony in years** Caliban asked. In the recent months his foster child had begun to develop decidedly human habits.

"Not sure, I think that bonding spell has something to do with it." Ron said looking to the now clear sky. The spell in question was something he'd had an old gypsy woman cast on him so that time wouldn't dampen his memories of his family and friends. The spell itself was tied to the tattoo on his hip bone; he'd had the symbol of his family magically craved into a skin; a very painful and messy affair since he had to have it repeated multiple times in order to stop the instantaneous healing of his draconic skin.

 **Eeh? How's that work?** Caliban said, his eyes closed as he settled down for a nap.

"Not a clue," Ron responded with a snort. He never has and never would claim to understand how magic functioned on Earthland or earth. Earth was slightly easier since everyone could do a huge variety of magic instead of the individual, specialist branches that mages in Earthland used. Looking back at the cloudless sky, Ron considered some of his memories of earth.

He wondered how his family was doing, hopefully they weren't being too stupid and letting his disappearance overwhelm them. The Weasley's were a tight knit family, who loved each other fiercely despite their differences. It was odd for him to think that by this point Ginny should have graduated – what was she doing? Did the twins have any plan for the future? Had Bill finished his cruse breaker mastery? What about Percy, had he outgrown his snobbish tendencies or was he still a brown nose. Ron squashed down his own grief.

 **You miss them still?** Caliban asked. Dragons were different to humans in the sense their bonds between each other were far weaker, due to the ages they could live to, the idea of not seeing a friend or relative for hundreds of years meant very little to them.

"Yeah," Ron said shortly. "Harry and Hermione as well." Ron said, tracing his second and third tattoo, a lightning bolt and a scroll.

 **Ah yes, the one that kept escaping certain death and the female with strange priorities.** Caliban said, recalling various stories of Ron's best friends.

Ron sat up with a laugh at the very apt description of his closest friends, who despite the years still held a place very close to his heart.

"When I introduce you guys I'm going to need a camera aren't I?" Ron mused, smiling fondly at the sleeping dragon.

 **Hmph** Caliban growled, flicking out his tail. Ron simply batted it away. **You still think they are here? We have travelled the length and breadth of the continent and we haven't even heard rumors, except for that weird healer's mad ramblings…**

"Look I can't really explain it but my magic knows that they're here, or will be here in Fiore, I just need to find them." Ron said, subconsciously tracing his third tattoo, a Griffin, on his wrist.

 **Your species are strange** Caliban said, now falling asleep. **I'm not carrying your sorry butt across the desert plains.**

"Sure, sure." Ron said blithely, as he tugged on his makeshift blanket.

_#

"WHAT DO MEAN!" Caliban roared furiously. He would not could not betray his son this way. He could not abandon him, in a world that is not his own and force him to live amongst humans who had no ties to him.

"I mean exactly what I say Caliban," Igneel spoke solemnly.

"You expect us to-to abandon our children because you're scared?" Caliban said, lightning arcing off his scales.

"I am not scared, I know what will happen and it cannot happen." Igneel told the youngest dragon and the newest amongst the group.

"I am sorry Caliban we have known this for some time and we've been preparing our children so that they may continue as they are," Grandeeny told him softly, using her empathic magic to calm the raging Dragon. Her ward Wendy was practically a toddler.

Caliban hissed in annoyance as he felt the spell wash over him but did not resist.

"What's wrong with them becoming dragons?" Caliban asked his eyes fixed on the head of the meeting Igneel. His son was Natsu, a pink haired brat with a bluntly disturbing origin story.

"Because he'll be huntin' dragons ya fool," Metallica spat. His son was Gajeel Redfox.

"Enough this is not up for discussion Caliban, either you fuse with your son or we must kill him. There is no in-between," Igneel snarled.

"If it makes you feel any better you'll see him again it will take a while sure, but Ronald doesn't age does he? He's been a child for six years now." Grandeeny said, trying to be kind.

Caliban raised his hackles and hissed "Are we done here?"

Igneel stared at him for a while before nodding. Caliban immediately flew out of the nearest opening and out into the silent night. He hated small spaces and he hated the plan even more.

Leave his son? Ron had already gone through a lot, too much for a mere hatchling.

"So that took a while." Ron said casually as he longed across a stray cloud. Concealed by the dense water, Caliban had been unable to smell him and his tricky son made him smile, despite himself.

Ron sat up and jumped off his perch and floated by Caliban's horns. "Do you know how long I've been waiting since you took off? Five hours." He moaned dramatically.

Caliban snorted, **I'm sure it was real difficult.**

"It was, I'll have you know! I had, like, nothing to do!" Ron whined, flying irritating close to Caliban's sensitive ears. He raised his claw in a swatting motion, forcing Ron to zoom out the way.

"Hey! Watch it." Ron shouted, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers (the only clothes he bothered to wear). "Who ate your thundercloud?"

Caliban didn't answer just continued to power his way through the skies. It was a testament to Ron's magical strength that he could continue to keep up with him, despite having the physical body of a 13 year old.

By the time that they had stopped, Caliban had powered across the border of Fiore and into northern Bosco. Seeing the sun beginning to peak between the mountain caps, Caliban glided down into a dense mountain-side forest.

"So you gonna tell me what is that has you snapping louder than thunder?" Ron said conversationally, as he made himself comfortable on the uppermost branches of a massive fir tree. "So you're not going to tell me. Okay I'll rephrase, can you tell me why you're angrier than a rattled hornets' nest?" Or my Mother, Ron thought privately.

 **No** Caliban told his son with a note of barely restrained fury.

"Well that's fun, you gonna leave me then?" Ron said, now hanging upside down from the tree repeating several pull ups.

Caliban's frozen silence with answer enough.

"Even less fun then, how long you got?" Ron said, still hanging upside down but starring directly at his foster parent.

 **Till next July** Caliban whispered, his misery echoing off the phrase.

"Not long then, it's not like we weren't expecting something like this though, granted it was me who was supposed to be leaving." Ron told him. "I'm gonna need another tattoo."

 **A Tattoo?** Caliban said looking at his son.

"Sure, need something to remember you with don't I? Got one for my family, Got one for Harry & Hermione, I've got my piercing so I can wear my mum's crest as well, now I'll need one for you. Maybe a massive dragon across my shoulders and back – gonna hurt like hell." Ron said tracing the imagined shape onto his chest. "Or maybe on my arms, that'll hurt less."

 **I'm sorry** Caliban said.

"Did you want to do this?" When Caliban shook his head, Ron continued. "Then don't be sorry, plus it doesn' suit you this whole penance look, Storms don't never apologise for blowing so neither should you."

Caliban felt some of the heaviness around his heart lift. His son was right. He could no more control these events then he could stop the storms from raging. What he needed to do was teach his son all that he could while he could.

 **We're training properly now** Caliban said.

"What!?" Ron yelped falling straight off the tree. "I barely survived the basics!"

 **Then you better get stronger** Caliban said with a sniggering roar. **You'll need to learn a weapon since your claws are pitiful.**

"I've got the body of 12 year old, what cha'a expecting?" Ron roared back.

_#

July 7th X777

When Ron woke up that particular morning he knew Caliban had gone. Ron's heart beat was the only one in the clearing – all the wildlife had scrammed the moment they had heard the apex predator land.

The next thing he noticed was a burning sensation on his arm. Looking down, he found a black tattoo etched into the skin of his left arm. It was a dragon, the open mouth just grazing his shoulder and the long spiked tail wrapped around his arm, from elbow to wrist in a tribal style.

After touching it Ron fond the skin raw and tender, so he drew back trying to avoid provoking the tattoo any further. With a grimace Ron sat up and glanced around the glade he had spent his last night with his foster father. They were somewhere in Stella, specifically the western region, he estimated from the tree type. Arcadian Green Spurs, Ron mused.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Ron asked the cloudy sky.

Ron met a good chunk of Fairy Tail at a party, specifically a drunken party, with a very smashed Cana Alberon dragging him through the crowd and forcefully introducing him to the guild as her new husband because he could make awesome sake. It was probably equally predictable that Ron laughed himself hoarse at the suggestion and lecherously accused Cana of liking little boys too much. It was the start of a beautiful friendship, Cana would drag him into interesting bars and pubs, where children weren't supposed to be and allowed him to get fantastically drunk with her. In return Ron drove off the unwanted attentions of boob grabbing idiots – who found the concept that a hot drunkard like Cana wouldn't want to sleep with them an impossibility – and traveled on jobs with her to offer a helping hand. Or fist as the occasion usually called for.

It took a year for Cana to demand he move in with her and join her guild. Ron accepted both options and loved his guild. The Council appearance were annoying as was the need to constantly reaffirm that, yes he was adult and no he did not know the source of his immortality. But the bond he had Cana was almost on level with the bond he had had with Harry and Hermione, though Cana was more on his level as far as rules were concerned. Natsu, another Dragon Slayer who had joined the guild recently was great as well, all ways willing to fight bare handed. Ezra Scarelt was far too serious in his opinion, like a pre-troll Hermione so Ron, as the unofficial big brother of the young fairies took upon himself to lighten the serious girl up.

Ron got a lot more noticed at Fairy tail, which was a bit of an issue at times, but with genuine monsters like the Master protecting the council let him be mostly. The public was somewhat fascinated by him so he got a lot of interviews by Scorers weekly – which again annoying – but the downsides were manageable and more importantly better than the alternative, constant loneliness. The insanity of Fairy Tail meant his quasi-immortality bothered few and he got along with guild mates like a house on fire.

Also, the guild was quite willing to keep an eye out for the missing parts of his trio, they didn't laugh his requests off, they didn't tell him he was crazy or pretend that they would. They genuinely tried and gave Ron anything they came across. It was nice, being able to rely on people. The massive pay checks his jobs with Cana gathered also made him very happy.

Years went by and the young fairies became the elite or up and coming. Cana's boobs got bigger and her pen chance of good booze did so as well (hard as it was to imagine being any more alcoholic). Cana managed to snagged S-Class status, with Ron's encouragement and convinced Cana to accept that she appreciated both men and women (which lead to some very volatile relationships). Ron cried when Lisanna died and celebrated when Lucy joined the guild easily identifying her as an old money run away. But her grit and determination meant he respected her in spite of such things. When Phantom lord came and attacked Shadow Gear he joined the response, going utterly berserk on the building. He fought Gajeel in Natsu's steed when he had to go and save Lucy when they found out that Jose had stolen her from under their noses.

He also accepted both Juvia and Gajeel when they joined the guild and offered to go on a job with them.

Ron was happy, he missed his birth world and his trio but he was happy.


	5. Haven

Authors note: Originally I wasn't going to post the next two parts since they are more like overviews then actual stories but the next parts of my fic will not make any sense unless you know the stories that make up Ron and Harry's time in Fiore before reuniting so I decided I would even if I thought it was a poor example of writing skills (which are admittedly quite lack luster). Anyway thank you for reading this note and I promise to make sure there are as few of these as possible

Harry's path, the midnight Angel

Everything hurt. From the tips of his fingers, to his bruised and battered ribs. Even Riddle hadn't been able to invoke this much pain. Harry was also wet, he could feel cold water gurgling underneath his twisted arms and damaged back. Opening his eyes Harry could just make out a waterfall from the fuzzy blur.

The strain of doing so returned Harry to the soothing oblivion of darkness once more.

The next time Harry woke, the sharpness of the pain had receded somewhat, enough so that he could stay awake for longer. He wasn't bleeding that much he could ascertain, but the angle his arm was resting in and the hollow pain his leg were not beneficial. He fell asleep again.

A bird tried to eat him on the third day, Harry was in and out of consciousness so much that it had taken the splintering pain of the crow like bird's beak piercing the flesh of his leg. His magic exploded outward, disintegrating the bird. Exhaustion took a hold once more…

Harry was picked up sometime during the fourth day. They were a pair of trainee healers heading towards the famed "Haven of the peaceful", a hideaway renowned for its advanced medicine. They were shocked he had lived so long, whilst obviously deprived of food and water. Harry, if he could, would have told him he was accustomed to longer. As it was he didn't even twitch when they re-broke the bones in his arm and leg and set them properly. He slept through all of it, immune to the pain and scurrying healers that kept him tethered to this plane of existence. He did not react when they opened up his leg to remove the infection the bird had imbedded in his leg. He stayed in a state of constant sleep, heart pumping at a rate slightly below average; his magic and body working in tandem to repair the damage the fall had inflicted upon him. The healers were amazed, they'd never seen a case like this, where the magic of a mage worked in tandem with non-magical treatments –normally mages had to be put under magic-suppressants to avoid any backlashes.

It took 4 weeks for Harry to really wake up, he occasionally broke through to consciousness, but those moments were rare and often occurred in the early hours of the morning. Any staff that did come across him would hear him muttering nonsense and foreign names, in an accent they had never come across before. The nurses in his ward liked to refer to him as the fallen angel since he was ridiculously pretty child, all soft skin, messy hair and brilliant eyes. The nature of his injuries also indicated he had fallen from a great height, thus the name.

When conscious and deliberate thought returned to Harry it was the sound of violin playing that woke him. At least Harry thought it was a violin, though its pitch was deeper than most violins he'd heard, though those were few and far between. The song being played was sad and slow, making Harry cry – though he would as all boys do, deny such reactions to the end of his days.

It took a few more weeks after that for Harry to get out of bed and even then he required the help of crutches and each step was painful, but he persevered he wanted to see the musician playing that odd Violin, cello music. Harry talked to the nurses of course but his natural inclination to not trust strangers and the odd phrases and clothing the staff wore meant Harry only spoke when it was impolite not to.

It was a full moon when he meet the musician, an old woman with a scruffy white hair wearing the basic uniform of wall guards; She sat on the balcony right outside Harry's ward starring out at the mountain peaks in the distance.

"You going to introduce yourself, brat?" The guard asked after the fourth night Harry spied on her.

Harry hobbled forward and stood just within sight.

"You really are prettier than a girl," The woman muttered when she got a good look at the boy.

"I'm not!" He replied hotly, he wobbled precariously on his crutches.

The old man nearly bust a gut laughing at the utter fury on Harry's face. "Calm yourself boy, nothing wrong with being a pretty kid, means you'll be good lookin' when you're older." She said still snorting.

"I'm not pretty, I was never pretty before." Harry muttered mutinously, tugging on his now obnoxiously silky and shiny hair.

"Well they did say they found you in the falls of the spirits, maybe ya sucked up some magic," The old ladies instrument continued to play, without her touching it much to Harry's shock.

"I didn't know instruments could play themselves here!" Harry blurted out and then froze.

"Here? How far from home are ya?" She asked shrewdly, raising a furry brow at the odd phrasing.

"I don't really know," Harry whispered, opening up to the stranger for reasons he couldn't quite grasp.

"Hmph, well its called a Vicello." She told him, picking up the instrument again.

"Pardon?" Harry asked blinking owlishly.

"My instrument, called a Vicello it is." She said playing a jollier tune. "When you play it, it reflects your skill, get good enough it'll reflect what you feel even when you ain't there, drives the residents mad it does," She said with an infectious grin. Her eyes softened and she gestured to the space next to her.

Harry hobbled forward dubiously. The lady waved her hand again and another, more comfortable seat appeared at his surprised look she said "I use re-quip magic, pretty common round these parts. Now, when you play the Vicello you've got to be careful bout how you hold the bow…"

The lesson continued for the rest of her watch and the nights to follow. Harry learnt mostly second hand seeing what she was doing and mimicking it in the air. A few notable times the lady, who had yet to give her name, brought out a battered but functioning violin to practice his skills on. The lady taught him what she knew of Fiore, and she knew quite a bit. Some evenings she'd teach him to read the odd character script the Fiorians favoured along with the music score. It took close to a year, a year of learning, recovery and healing of both the body and soul before he was allowed to actually touch the precious Vicello. The Lady, who had never asked his name, also extracted a promise from the unchanging boy; learn something of use. Harry's magic was irrevocably tied to death and as such held two options: follow the tie of his magic or… find a new one.

Harry, who wished death upon very few searched through his Haven's archives until he found it. Found his use in life: healing. Harry had been in and out of Madam Pomfrey's Hospital wing - as such he knew most of the limits his home had in regards to medicine, though his knowledge of mundane or Muggle medicine was much vaguer. It was hard, getting used to the convoluted phrases and even more complex formula's that made up Fiorian medicine. Harry's saving grace was the apprenticeship program that the Haven utilized, so three months after his descion he was able to secure an apprenticeship under the emergency or "High stress" wards. The hands on experience coupled with the high intensity learning environment suited Harry teaching him what he needed to know when required and finding faster, more effective solutions to age-old issues became Harry's greatest skill. Due to his still active tie with death, Harry was able to detect patients who were likely to become deceased sooner – even those who didn't know it themselves.

It was three years later, when reached a lull in his potential that Harry discovered an old, dusty and on the surface, uninteresting book. The only reason he had even bothered to pick up the book was because it had broken his new Violin he had bought to practice on. The sscripture was old and kind of weird, with some of the phrases that Harry was used to reading inverted or written in strange shapes. The book, much like a great puzzle, was difficult enough for him that he kept oing back and translated more pages, searching for a reason why a book that seemed so dull, had been written in such a way that it took months for even bones of the key to be translated. It took four chapters before Harry realised what he was translating. He'd been in Fiore for close to 4 years by that point, so he knew some of the legend and folklore they had – it was hard not to when you lived in a quasi-legendary place the Haven. They had their own legends, like an immortal keeper and magic wells but most of it pure rumour, one legend they had though was based on fact. The Haven library had been the royal families vault a couple of centuries ago. This vault contained some of the oldest and most dangerous books that the ancients had to offer, of course as all highly valuable dark texts they were burnt sometime during some violent revolution attempt that for most was largely unwanted. There were, however, persistent rumours of a few ancient books that had survived the turmoil – The books of souls, the books of Gods and the books of Demons – suffice to say Harry was quite surprised to discover a book that supposedly invoke demons (not something he ever expected to enjoy learning about). The guard, as mysterious as ever, helpfully pointed something that Harry had missed in his…panic attack.

The book explained how someone could invoke but it also specified spell that could _destroy_ them. Due to Fiore's somewhat strange obsession with the term "slaying" this branch of magic was called Demon Slaying magic, a branch that had died after the last of Zerref's demons had disappeared.

To say gaining the magic was difficult would have been the biggest understatement Harry had ever heard – and he was a master of understatement. On the bright side, Hermione would have been pleased. Harry had to spend most of his free time in the library understanding the theory behind his new branch of magic and deciding which subgroup of demon slaying magic he would pick. There were a few different types, fire, memory, poison and a blend of magic remnant of electricity but none that really felt right. He sort of knew that non e of the types he had translated were right for him until he came across one of the last types: Sky Demon Slayer magic. How sky demons worked Harry wasn't quite sure since the brief description was somewhat confusing but the skills that the magic required and gave where perfect for him. It reflected his love of the open skies, the potentially damaging effect of air and the ability to heal people – sort of. The book was a little vague on the magic but from Harry could understand each time he used this type of healing there was cost involved on both the castor and the patient, it was also quite finicky according to some of the more illuminating footnotes so there was no guarantee it would work.

With all of this going on Harry found little time to interact with the Haven on a personal level. As such he missed how he was once again being developed into a legend. Granted his back story was already pretty renowned – how many people survived great falls from the sky? That added to both his almost inhuman good looks, perpetual youth and his prodigal skill in the field of medicine, most of his new "fans" were just waiting for someone to make some kind of nickname or title to bestow upon him. In fact it wasn't until Harry met the guard's granddaughter Polly that Harry really became friends with someone – though even that was debateable since the pair spent most of their time arguing about their opinions and methods then much of anything else.

"Good afternoon Polly, how are you this fine day?" Harry asked as he strolled through the maternity ward that he was on loan to temporarily.

"My name is not Polly," She hissed, glaring at the 13/17 year old.

"Of course it's not dear," he replied condescendingly as he signed various notes and forms which required his signature.

"Oh little angel, its nearly four, don't you think it's time for your afternoon nap?" Polly replied monotonously as she went over the MII (magic isolated image) of her latest patient.

Harry's expression soured at the shot to both his age and fairly feminine appearance. "One day, I'm going to be taller than you and then we will see who is laughing," Harry muttered, heading over to his desk. The sniping was in good humour – mostly, there were certain days of the month that Harry could easily imagine her growing horns, a snout and renaming herself Norbert.

Today was the first day of the annual required health check for guards. Whilst Harry knew how important keeping the Haven's defending force fit and healthy, the part of him that was still a 13 year old at heart rebelled greatly at the hours of dull repeated examinations of people who were just as enthusiastic as he was – of course he wasn't going to go and give Polly ammunition in their ongoing verbal spars, so Harry pulled on his "big boy pants" and set up his quarter of the ward with the files he would need, the monitors, even the MII scanners and waited for the first set of guards to trickle in – maybe Polly's grandmother might pay a visit and he could show her how much he's improved.

Harry was worried. Scratch that, he was terrified, every single guard bar 9, had shown MII scans with results similar to middle-aged accountants. They were developing magic drains were they shouldn't be, their lung capacity had halved and a dizzying number of them were displaying early signs of diseases that their immune system should have killed off the moment they were infected. But he couldn't argue with the data, it was right there in front of him and it wasn't a machine failure, he'd replaced it three times and each time the results had been the same.

Harry ran out into the corridor and raced to Porlyusica desk, the summary of findings clutched in his fists. When he arrived he looked up and felt paralyzing fear shoot through his body. Polly's eyes were dull, shell shocked husks of their usual fire.

"You found out the same thing to right?" Polly says, her hands coming up to pull on her pink locks. "300 minor and major mages, with the inner bodies of 60 year olds, 22 with half the deterioration and only 1 with no internal changes."

"I need you to scan me Polly," Harry says, looking up at her with pleading eyes. Polly nods and stands up, swaying like a leaf, her feet unsteady on the ground. She switches the highly complicated machine - Harry and Polly are the only ones capable of using the MII's.

Harry steps into the box, that gives him vague flashbacks of the snippets of Back to the future he'd watched when staying late with Mrs Figg. The boxes buzzes, lights up and numerous patterns form on the wall. Harry recognises the steady swirl of his heartbeat and the jagged jumps of his young core. It takes 20 minutes, 20 long heart wrenching minutes, until the lights switch off and the door opens again. Harry steps out and his hugged tight by a tearful Porlyusica.

"Your fine," She weeps "Your fine." Harry hugs her for a few minutes before pushing her gently into the machine. He repeats the process Polly followed with the emotions that were probably quite similar to what she felt when he'd been in there.

The buttons beep, the door squeaks and eventually it feeds out those all-important diagrams. Harry isn't sure if he's happy. The deterioration to her systems are nowhere near as bad as some, but she's aged considerably – instead of being 24, her lungs and other organs appear to be in their early 40s. He opens the door and shows her the images, she nods relieved that the damage isn't to horrific.

"How do we fix this?" Harry asks, though he doesn't know who he's asking.

"Like you've always done. Identify weaknesses and attack them." Polly says seriously.

"I think only works when I'm sparring Porlyusica, things like these don't have defensive stances or flaws in their defence." The two of them are striding through the warren of corridors, heading to Harry's laboratories.

"Of course they do, we just need to work out its Achilles heel," We already know that some of them have a partial immunity and you the strategy depute have full immunity. Our job will be to find out why."

"The boy will be of no use to you dear." Harry spins around to see the balcony guard, Polly's so called 'Grandmother'. "He's the same as you but his gate hasn't been forced open, you need to ask the traitors if you want to work out the cure."

Harry freezes. Traitors? He mouths eyes wide with shock. Haven couldn't have any traitors, who would betray a place like the Haven for the peaceful, where they took in strangers and cared for them; a place that had accepted despite his odd scar, bizarre accent and general weirdness; a place that hadn't demanded any from him except his presence, an attitude that only the Weasley clan, Hermione and Hagrid had ever offered him – the others all had a price for their acceptance.

Polly has other thoughts in mind, "You're from Edolas?"

Harry shakes his head, "Earth, I'm from earth, Guard what do you mean traitors? Do we have spies?" Spies Harry might accept, people were always trying to invade Haven, it wasn't impossible that one of them had successfully integrated themselves within the lower security areas – like the new Haven members.

The guards laugh is bitter, her eyes exhausted. "You'd be surprised what some will do for power Harbinger." The guard suddenly looks very old. Her hair had always been grey and wiry, and her face wrinkled with wearing of time but her eyes had never been that poisoned. "It's the perfect plan, an unknown plague sweeps through my Haven, leaving corpses with no noticeable damage but devoid of life. A handful of strong ones survive, some are half healed, a select few are untouched – blessed one might claim. Victims of horrific tragedy, that none could have foreseen or fought. Nobody to blame, it's not like anyone can benefit!" She screams the last part hate rolling around the corridors, almost tangible. "Except of course they do, those researchers that had been rejected for lack of morals can suddenly access my undefended library. Those warlords across the hill can start terrorizing the northern villages again, because that fortress that once guarded those hallowed mountain passes is suddenly no more than a husk, a place of ancient history to be awed through paintings and lurid tales." She hisses, her magic swirls around her a veritable spectrum of emotions.

"Why…" Polly whispers.

The guard laughs louder. "The same reason someone through you through an unstable portal my dear, greed, lust and jealousy – why them not me? Why should they stop me, it's what I want! Why do anything." She spits.

Harry stops listening after that. He turns around and walks, not runs into his laboratory and opens his file once inside. He pins the phots of the immune, the likely traitors and begins to work in a cold fury. A few moments later, Polly joins him and echoes the freezing fury. The work in tandem, pulling on every ounce of knowledge they have, they call a few of the half immunes down to the laboratory – only Polly can look them in the face and treat them as she always had, but then Polly was never a particularly welcoming individual so she doesn't have to hide her disdain. They steal the charm he clutched so tightly in his palm, and in it find the key to the delayer.

The irony of it all doesn't escape Harry because it's the Killer green emerald that lies in his palm that tells Polly exactly what it is that their dealing with – A curse stone unique to her world for its magic stealing properties. The holder of the gem could steal a part of every persons magic and seal some within themselves. By repeating the process again and again on its victims the traitors aged their body and stole the very essence of their life. The so called immunes, are simply never exposed to the jewel.

Harry makes the cure accidentally, he slices his finger on the blade of his herb knife and a bead of scarlet liquid drops onto the gem whose jewel tone matches his eyes with sicking mockery. The jewel doesn't glow but it does crack, with the plasma settling in the fissures. Polly tells him off, picking the jewel up in order to clean it when she feels a rush of energy flow up her arm. His blood reversed the sealing properties of the gem.

Polly writes into the file and continues to create the case that will eventually nail the bastards to the cross once they expose them. Harry leaves from time to time to plot with the dying guards whose Haven, the home she cultivated from a pile of rocks into a majestic monastery a world centre for elite healing without a price tag, slowly fall apart, with her unable to do anything. The cancer had sprung up so quickly and so deeply that the link between the guard and the Haven was dying at unstoppable speed. With the guard, Harry began to alter the Haven, adding and moving the various secret escapes built into the Haven so that when they sprung the trap everyone could escape.

It takes months of planning for the day to arrive and even then, it's not perfect. Their plan if forced to spring too early by the arrival of the puppet masters – or maybe the strings, they weren't really evil masterminds but more like fanatic minions with a higher brain functions then the average cult devotee. They don't announce themselves, but Harry had taken to following the traitors higher up in the chain of command. The cure stones were almost complete and had been steadily handed out to the residents in the form of new nutrition booster that certain guards ' 'needed' but others did not – Harry who never lied before and, technically wasn't lying now, was instantly believed. The process had to be slow, otherwise the Head healer would have noticed and Harry wasn't going to allow his traitorous boss the knowledge his perfectly implemented plan was failing.

Three days in they made their move:


	6. Sleeping Beauty

The fight was, Harry would later reflect, very therapeutic. He lashed out at the traitors and attacking army with a level of viciousness comparable to a Rottweiler. The violence was built upon the back of nearly half a decade of pent up aggression. Harry would feel guilty about it later once the dust had settled and the adrenaline had faded, but he felt immensely satisfied every time he felt a bone snap beneath his fists, or the shattering of kneecap when he drove his foot into it with magically amplified strength – granted the people he was attacking had a startling similarity to the monsters that stole any sort of a life from him when he was little more than a year old.

Taking out the outliers had been fun as well, ordinarily Harry's targets were stock still, so not much of a challenge. That thrill, he had first experienced riding a twiggy, quite dubious broomstick as cannonballs hurled through the air, airborne battle tactics were employed beneath him and diving in the direction of an elusive golden sphere, was reawakened. Harry had of course been fighting with the guards for years know but his childlike appearance meant that the bouts were rarely fun or challenging – but this? This was brilliant! Well, except for the whole 'traitors in the haven thing'. Next to him or possibly across the hall depending on which side of the cavern he had thrown himself in, Polly was swinging her mace and cracking skulls like it was going out of fashion - whilst she possessed very little technique Polly more the made up for it with enthusiasm.

"You know I'm fairly certain you had to take some kind of oath before we became healers, like do no harm or some shit like that," A guard remarked as he exercised his own much more depleted stores with ruthless efficiency. Remarkably, he also survived the death glare sent his way by Sister Tessa for his profanity, who was also involved in the melee – though she was simply blasting any of the invaders that dared to near the escape tunnel, with a vaguely demonic energy.

Both Polly and Harry raised their brow at that comment. "What kind of moron tells a healer that they can't harm, they're surrounded by the wounded constantly and if some other moron attacks who is going to knock sense into their bone heads." Polly spat acidic at her ally, as she delivered a particularly nasty elbow into her head locked opponents eye.

The guard raised his eye, looked back and forth between Sister Tessa and Polly before asking, "After this I don't suppose either of you would let me buy you a drink?"

"Not in a million years," Polly immediately replied. Sister Tessa however looked somewhat intrigued.

"A drink? Are we talking whiskey or are you going to buy me a hot beverage?" Sister Tessa, who now that Harry thinks about it is not a very devoted "wife of the stars" if she was agreeing (or possibly agreeing) to go on a date with a random guard who had become a part of a free for all.

"Why not both? A friend of mine told me about this drink where you add tequila and Kahlua to coffee, I'm sure I could ask them to heat it up, supposed to be pretty good." The guard says, smiling roguishly – whilst doing so another three attempted to break through the defence _again_ only to beaten soundly across the head with a long metal pipe Sister Tessa had sourced from some unknown source (and hopefully that source will remain unknown to both Harry and its victims). "I always wanted a woman who knows her way around blunt weapons," He murmured. Sister Tessa gives him a rather… _saucy_ smirk in return.

"I am not helping her give birth," Harry whispered.

"You have a healing factor that I don't have," Polly tells him deadpanning. "If anyone has to help deliver whatever… _child_ they produce it will be you."

"Not if I disappear in mysterious circumstances." Harry replies before throwing himself back in the melee.

The fight continues for another hour before the final body lands in an unconscious heap on the ground. Harry is exhausted, the guard (Whose name was Arnold Strauss of all things and insisted that his name was Aron) and Tessa are lying lazily in one another's arm chatting idly and Polly is sat upon a rock starring at the rubble that the Haven had been reduced to in their fight.

"Do you think she made it?" Harry, in his mind's eye can clearly see the woman that probably did more than teach him to play the violin that day on the balcony.

"Unlikely if she is who I think she is. She'll be gone by now, there isn't enough energy in Haven left to sustain her." Polly replied.

Harry said nothing but began to cough. Hack actually. Polly frowned, one of Harry's most annoying, and occasionally comforting traits, was the ability to smile in the face of adversary or at the very least sass in it. Polly glanced down at Harry felt her heart shatter. The joy of seeing the battle finish and their small bands of fighters succeeding despite the odds, Polly realized she had never checked any of them for wounds. "Harry." She whispered. Sister Tessa and Aron both sat up when they heard Polly's plea, their faces lost all remnants of colour when they saw Harry's convulsing body.

Polly threw herself off her perch and landed in a pile of disorganized limb at Harry's feet, she ripped off his shirt and felt her heart stop. Criss-crossing his body were thousands of small lacerations, most would be simple enough to heal but it was the three lacerations oozing neon green puss that had her heart trying to escape through her throat. Behind her Aron swore filthy words but Sister Tessa didn't seem to agree.

"The cowardly, back stabbing, yellow belied-" Aron continued to roar out his frustration at the spineless bastards that had beaten Harry in such an underhanded way. He'd only known the little man for a few hours but for someone to beat a fighter like Harry in this kind of way? It was unforgivable.

"You recognise it don't you." Polly whispered. "There's nothing I can do but watch." Something died in Polly that day, it died and smashed into a million pieces – a loss would eventually lead to her inability to trust her heart with the love of her life, it would stop her from being able to look after the child she had birthed and force her to hand him to his father, it would be thing that drove her from the people who could care for her and into the blissful solitude of the wild.

"I don't understand. You're one of the best healers there are." Sister Tessa spoke up. "What do you mean you can't help him?"

"The poison is called Rippers touch. It's only been cured once and Harry's the one that did it. The victim of the curse had to give up his ability to speak to be free of the poison and Harry's the only person capable of retribution healing – they've poisoned the only cure." Polly cries bitterly. "Do you know what ironic about this? Because of Harry's condition his corpse will never age, it won't rot, his muscles will remained as tense as he was when he died, hell he won't even scar and yet he's completely dead." Polly watches in agony as Harry ceases to spasm and his body began to still. He looked like he was sleeping but his breath began to become fainter and fainter as his body slowly fell into an unbreakable stasis.

"We need to give him a place to rest in peace," Aron says, though Porlyusica struggles to hear it. He sounds 50 years older and like the wounded weary soldier that he truly is.

"The falls," Sister Tessa whispers. "It's where he was found, I remember when he was a student in my literacy class. The teachers were such terrible gossips you know." Sister Tessa smiles faintly, though her smile dims as she realises Mrs Tanner could very well have been amongst the first casualties.

Polly nods and picks him up. He was so light, Polly thought to herself. It was easy to forget that Harry was physically and mentally still 12 years old – granted he is… he was a very educated 12 year old but he was still an adolescent. And for him to die when he had so much to give? It was one of fate cruellest twists so far.

Porlyusica removed the incriminating files from Harry's jacket and handed them to Sister Tessa. She walks through the wreckage, out into the forest, Sister Tessa and Aron do not follow, understanding that this was something Porlyusica had to do herself, instead they left to find the other survivors.

Porlyusica walks for hours until she finds it, the place she can leave the child who sacrificed and fought so hard for the sake of others; Spirit Falls. She walks behind the falls and finds a rock slab just the right size and length to hold Harry's slumbering form. Looking down at him Porlyusica can just imagine his eyes fluttering open and for him to yawn cutely in the way he always did when he woke up at his desk. Porlyusica took the time to fashion a blanket of flowers and gravestone for him – she knows that the magical properties of the falls would stop his body from rotting and then… leaves.

She walks away from it all, she walks through towns and villages until she bumps into traveller entirely by accident – a mage who's even smaller than Harry was but much less innocent. She follows him to the town of Magnolia and for a while helps the guild centred in Magnolia. But the memories are too painful, the carefree but fiercely loyal attitude reminding her too much of the years she spent in Haven. She retreats to the nearby forest shielding herself with isolation and her studies. She waits for the pain to fade, for her hatred of humanity to lesson and over time finds that whilst the hate diminishes the pain is still there fresh, like an open wound. No matter how many times Sister Tessa (who is no longer a sister and is now a wife) and Aron Strauss visit, bringing with them each of the their children and eventually their children's children, the pain remains.

The hate remerges when she learns of the death of her last surviving friends from the Haven. She brings what is left the Strauss family to Fairy Tail. She looks on as the child of the only man she had ever considered loving, warps and becomes something so like the monsters that destroyed her home it's uncanny. She heals the warped child's son, ensuring his survival but is saddened to see that she could not heal the mental scars inflicted upon young Laxuss Dreyar.

Decades pass and Porlyusica listens with faint disbelief as her memories, her history is turned into a legend filled with fabricated fables, conspirators try to turn it into a mythical centre of corruption and audacious, ignorant fools turn it into books filled with so many inaccuracies and false truths that she feels that age old emotion rage stir with in her. However, like the other survivors she cannot bring herself to speak, cannot bring herself to tell the world of cancer that spread through her home without her ever noticing it.

Time continues to pass and she becomes something like fairy Tails medicine woman, only approached when the situation is dire. One of these cases is a little girl with scarlet hair and missing an eye. Looking at her she can almost see her old friend starring back her that same fierce determination and a will forged in fire. Porlyusica only hopes that she'll find the people necessary to give her the strength she will need to fulfil her potential.


	7. Finding your feet

Chapter 2: Hermione, on the road

"I really hate you." Hermione says lying exhausted in the dirt, her trousers are ripped up and the metal cog work of her prosthetic is clearly visible through the remaining fabric encasing her leg.

Gildart laughs in reply, sitting cross-legged beside her head. There is no sweat on his brow and the only notable 'damage' to his attire is the dirt on his filthy coat – all in all Gildart looks completely relaxed, lethargic even. "You've gotten better princess." He says eyes sparkling like a scruffy vaguely demented version of St Nick (or possibly Dumbledore from a certain perspective).

Hermione raises her head to give him a poisonous glare, then lets her head fall back down onto the earth. "Lasting 5 minutes longer is not a sign of improvement Gildart, especially when you aren't even bothering to hit back."

"You haven't given me a real challenge yet," He taunts good naturedly. Hermione responds by tugging on their bond, yanking his face into the ground. "Someone's grumpy," He says wiping the dirt from his face but his grin still firmly in place.

"Not my fault my magic isn't designed to be aggressive," Hermione growls, sitting up slowly and leaning up against a nearby tree trunk. Using what little energy she had left she summons her travel sack and pulls out her cleaning kit; she then painstakingly removes every trace of grime and dirt from the bracket around her damaged leg.

"I didn't damage it did I?" Gildart looks genuinely worried now.

Hermione shakes her head. "Just a little dust in the gears, removing the dust will stop any potential build-ups that would damage the mechanism and cause the hyonics- never mind," She finishes gamely seeing Gildart's blank look. Just as she couldn't understand his obsession with his ratty coat, he wouldn't really understand her recent love of engineering.

"You're defensive skills aren't bad at all though, that shield of yours can handle a lot of magic." Gildart remarked, complimenting her.

"Yes but if I actually want to be involved in any of your missions I've got to be able to actually fight back, my spirit form is only really good for recon and it takes time to set up illusions spells to protect my body – if anyone finds my body whilst I'm using astral projection I won't stand a chance." Hermione groans. In recent months she'd been unable to improve her magic and had begun to stagnate – for someone like Hermione who had always succeeded at something she had wholly committed to finding herself unable to "keep up" as it were was frustrating to the point of tears.

Gildarts shrugged though he did look worried, he knew Hermione was powerful, she had some of the fastest core recovery time he had seen in decades, adding her unyielding willpower she could easily attain S-Class status within a few years but she was right in the fact that her magic left her extremely vulnerable. Since it was the essence of her soul that she projected in her astral form her body was always left in an unresponsive, coma-esque state. That weakness would make it impossible for her to function as an ordinary job fulfilling guild wizard. If she'd become an intelligence officer with the Rune Army she would have been set for life – her expert knowledge of etiquette and heraldry she would have been hugely successful in the political elements that kind of job required and the potential she had would have made the practical areas of her work a breeze. However, she'd been quite clear about her choice to join him and Fairy Tail, adamant even. Whenever he tried to probe the topic any deeper she'd start mutter about strings so as a general rule Gildart tried to ignore the topic and try to train her up to mission level.

Hermione shook her head and picked herself up the floor. Her stamina and recovery time had definitely improved over the year she'd been travelling with Gildart that was sure. If someone had told Hermione last year that she'd be able to run across a mountain range with about double her body weight strapped across her shoulders she'd have called the asylum and asked if they had any escaped patients; considering that she had done just that the week before and had only taken a day to fully recover before she was back on the road – well it was safe to say she'd improved.

Gildarts also stood up and gathered the various supplies he'd dumped whilst they had trained. Hermione glanced down at her map and quickly reoriented herself before walking off in the direction of the mountainside that their job was located on.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron said dumbstruck.

"I'm completely serious Ron, I can't in good mind let you continue to take jobs until you can at least read a basic contract, what if someone takes advantage of you?" Mira Jae asks, from behind the bar.

"What kind of moron tries to take advantage of a semi-immortal dragon slayer that can invoke lightning?" Ron yells, now royally pissed off.

"Ron you know that the council requires all mages to have basic literacy skills." Mira Jane tries though she knows it's largely in vain, Ron was probably one of the most sensible members of Fairy Tail but he had a temper that rivalled Laxus. As a general rule Ron tried to avoid letting his temper get the best of him- today unfortunately wasn't one of those days. Of course he did have a right to be annoyed his source of income had just been sealed because he couldn't read the language of a foreign country.

"hmph, not surprised a chump like you can't read," Laxus sneered – there was little love between the two dragon slayers (and Ron knew the bastard was some kind of dragon slayer, even if he smelt kind of weird). It might been due to their conflicting alpha personalities or maybe due to the immunity both parties had to one another's powers but they had never liked one another. Especially in recent months, when Laxus's ego reached new heights.

"I can read _my_ language fine," Ron hissed back, his violet eyes glowing as the mild day outside began to deteriorate further.

"Sure, you can except for all we know your just drawing weird symbols and hoping for the best," Laxus scoffed, intentionally flicking a piece of mud from his boots onto Ron. What little was left of the 12 year olds restraint was severed and he flung himself at the 19 year old , electricity crackling along his wrists and wind curling around his feet.

The ensuing fight damaged various tables and occupants of the hall. Laxus and Ron gave up using magic halfway through the fight and it had degenerated into vicious punch out and since Laxus was undeniably bigger, Ron wasn't doing that well; he used his flexibility and speed to his advantage but once Laxus had successfully grabbed in around the waist there wasn't much that Ron could actually do. Ezra was, predictably, the one to end the fight, forcibly separating both boys and pinning Laxus under her armoured foot.

"What do you think your doing?" Ezra hissed her displeasure, "You are both members of Fairy Tail and yet you act no better than children, apologise to the guild for disturbing them."

Ezra's in prime form today, Ron thought idly. He was annoyed but he knew that any arguments he made would simply end with Ezra shoving his face into the floor (not something he wanted to repeat). Laxus unfortunately (for him) chose to ignore his self-preservation instincts and opened his mouth.

"The hell I'm apologising about putting the weakling in his place." He said shoving the seventeen year olds foot off his chest.

It must be noted that Ron has a deep festering hatred of being put in his "place", he wasn't entirely sure why he hated the term so much, perhaps it was because of what he had witnessed of Harry's home life or the blatant racism Hermione faced or years of comparisons to his high achieving brothers but the term always invoked a great deal of anger on his part.

His anger caused the storm outside to intensify even further and the guild gained a visceral reminder on why Ron spent a good deal of time being personally trained by the master himself. Ron's magic, whilst difficult to use in hand to hand combat right now, was potentially dangerous enough to reduce most of Fiore to ruin if he was aggravated enough. Ron was regularly compared to Fairy Tails "Ace" Gildarts Clive and the comparison was not unwarranted. Ron had to learn how to keep his temper on a tight leash or it could lead to someone getting hurt.

"Ron," Cana said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ron took a deep breath and spoke. "Its fine, I've got it under control." The storm abated. Laxus refused to look at Ron and mumbled a general apology before stalking out the hall. Cana, having known Ron since she was 13 herself (nearly three years ago), knew that he was lying but didn't call him on it. His temper was always a little frayed around this time of year, as was Natsu's. Apparently both of their foster fathers had disappeared around this time of year. The reminder caused Cana to glance down at the dragon tattoo that Ron was subconsciously tracing. Still worried the 16 year old took care to guide Ron over to her regular table along with Macao Conbolt and Wakaba Mine.

Ron snorted at her unsubtle manipulation but let himself be pushed towards the newfound "father" and the pipe smoker. Macao was unusually exhausted that day and when asked he mumbled something about baby monitors and screaming. Haveing no clue as to what a baby monitor was, Ron shrugged and joined the card game Wakaba had been playing with Cana.

Nearby, the third master of Fairy Tail watched his apprentice with worry. He knew that his grandson and his student would eventually sort out their issues, but it was becoming more and more obvious that one of the pair was going to have step up at some point. He also knew that Ron was still trapped at the mental age of a 12 year old and whilst he had matured greatly he still held onto his grudges and unintentional prejudices quite harshly; His grandson had his own demons to conquer, most of which stemmed from his father. Makarov sighed, perhaps he should just let the Thunder God tribe go on those long distance missions they wanted to do and hope distance created some kind of understanding. Unlikely but an old man could hope.

"Master?" A voice spoke up. Makarov would deny the shocked yelp he issued at one of "children's" appearance, until the end of his days.

"What do want brat?" Makarov asked.

"What happened to Ron's family?" Natsu asked him, completely out of the blue.

"Same thing that happened to your father I presume," Master Makarov, raising his pint and keeping his eyes closed in order to disguise his surprise at the question.

Natsu shook his head still watching Ron hustle the adults out of their money using his, surprising, skill at strategy. "Caliban was his foster father, he's always really specific with that, plus his accents really weird and I don't think he learnt it from humans – Igneel really didn't like being near humans, said they were too loud or annoying." Natsu says showing a rare display of his intuitiveness.

Makarov looked at the (truly) young dragon slayer for a few moments before coming to a decision. Most people knew the general story on how Ron had come to be part of Fairy Tail, how Cana in a drunken stupor had decided that the tall redhead was to be her husband and how Ron had liked Fairy Tail's friendly atmosphere. In truth that tale was something of a simplification. For instance whilst Ron was quite happy to admit he was semi-immortal now, at the beginning of his time in Fairy tail had been fraught with his unwillingness to trust people.

 _"_ _Son, if you spend all your time looking for an enemy you'll never find an ally," Makarov remarked, sitting upon the table top. The shock caused the boy to fall straight off his stool, though he landed on his feet. Makarov took a moment to look at the boy, and was somewhat intrigued by what he saw. He was unusually muscular for a boy his age, with thick corded arms and high levels of muscles definition al across his chest which he left bare, bar the his thin jacket, which contained most of his belongs Makarov guessed. His trousers were similarly Spartan and practical with multiple pockets and loops for carrying knives and swords, on his feet were thick leather boots with an unusual leather thread, obviously fashioned by himself. His hair was the strangest shade of red he'd ever seen. Most redheads tended towards a wine colour, like young Ezra Scarlett. The boy's hair was almost orange, like the flame of a candle or an open fire, his skin a dark colour indicating long or all hours in the sun rather than natural disposition along with a large amount of freckles along various planes of his body. He had several tattoos though he couldn't decipher the meanings behind several of them (the odd crest carved onto hip was particularly interesting as was the cat and hawk chasing one another on his collar bone, not to mention the massive dragon tattoo covering the entirety of his left arm. He'd chosen a realtively common place for his guild mark, on his right hand, his choice of colour was slightly unusual as it was a blend of gold and red. He was a relatively handsome lad, particularly when he grinned that reckless smile that had drawn in Cana but his eyes were probably his most fascinating feature. They were an odd shade of purple that made Makarov think that they probably hadn't always been that kind of colour. It was somewhat reminiscent of the kind of colours his daughter-in-law's eyes would change colour when she used a particular spell, the magic temporarily "staining" her irises._

 _He was obviously powerful, he had an aurora of barely leashed power that was odd to see in one so young but was there all the same and if he wasn't mistaken the odd weather Magnolia had experienced in recent weeks was probably due to the boy in front of him._

 _"_ _So what's your name brat?" He asked over his pit of frothy beer._

 _"_ _Ron, Ron Weasley," He says warily his violently purple eyes narrowed in suspicion. He seemed to treat a lot of people with suspicion._

 _"_ _Humph, where's the sir brat, I'm the master of this guild and yet you youngin's show no respect at all." Makarov says, though he means none of it._

 _Ron smiles a little, obviously knowing that he's lying - it was obviously a shared traits amongst dragon slayers since Natsu could do it too. Though Natsu was prone to throwing fits when people were dishonest around him and sarcasm confused him utterly._

 _"_ _Apologies sir," the boy, Ron, replies. It's at this point Makarov notices how odd his accent is._

 _"_ _Where you from brat?" He asks and sees Ron stiffen immediately._

 _"_ _Small island, it's been destroyed." He says tensely._

 _"_ _Ah," Makarov says, "Sorry for your loss." He doesn't completely believe him, but he's fairly certain that all he's going to get from him today._

 _Ron shrugs, his hands tracing the crest imbedded on his hip. Makarov sees it and asks "That the crest of the island?" Though he doesn't recognise the script underneath the shield._

 _"_ _My families actually," Ron says, letting his hand drop. "The words are written in my…native tongue."_

 _Makarov doesn't press any further and instead returns to his drink and watching over his guild. Ron looks relieved that the interview of sorts is over and heads off to join Cana who's talking animatedly to several of the other younger guild members whose wellbeing she had put herself in charge of._

"He lost them, he's still looking for them like you are," Makarov says simply, amalgamating his knowledge of Ron's background into a single sentence.

"Is that what all his tattoos are for?" Natsu asks. He really is much more observant than the guild gives him credit for, Makarov think to himself.

"How'd you know that?" He asks instead.

"The dragon's Caliban, and the shield thingie has to be important since getting anything is really hard when you've got scales."

"You want a tattoo?" Macao asks having caught the tail end of the conversation.

"Yeah!" He says enthusiastically, grinning. "Hey, if I beat the master in a fight will you pay for my tattoo?" And suddenly the third master of Fairy Tail remembers precisely why the guild underestimates him; Natsu would (and has) willingly pick fight with walls if he thought it would prove how strong he was. Makarov's response to the "challenge" is to lift his fist and send the brat flying.

"You're a hundred years to young to be challenging me brat." He shout grumpily as Natsu stands up from the pile of rubble his crash landing caused.

"I'm gonna beat you one day old man!" The brat yells back.

"Who you callin' an old man!" The diminutive mage shrieks backs, in way that is completely unbecoming of one of the ten saints but is perfect for the master of Fairy Tail.

"You know we need to get you actually registered as a member of the guild at some point," Gildarts remarked as the walked back down the mountain.

"Shut up. I. Don't. want. To. Talk. To. You." Hermione pants, as she is forced to walk down the mountain on her hands.

"Aww, don't worry Duchess, you'll thank me for it later," Gildarts smirks.

"SHUT. UP."

Authors note:

Okay this filler is set 3 years after Ron joins Fairy Tail (so he's been in Fiore for close to 9 years at this point) and at the start of Hermione's 2 years traveling and training with Gildarts. Harry has been 'asleep' for close to Forty-five years now. 


	8. Regaining Strength

Regaining strength

Time is said to be the greatest healer. Capable of healing the greatest wounds and scars inflicted upon both mind and body but Hermione didn't believe that. Time did not simply make things better. Change made things better, changing your outlook, changing your environment doing something to fix the gaping wound she can feel pressing down on her, that's the true healer.

For a long time Hermione was certain she'd never recover from what Miss Heart did to her. Heart had taken something from her and left a poison in its wake, a poison she could physically see every time she had to cast a spell. The gold circle, the shimmer and sparkles that had fascinated when she had first delved into her magic had changed, becoming grittier and darker as the weeks went by. The physical training was simply an excuse, Hermione would later reflect, to avoid having to use her magic. To avoid seeing her soul, her willpower fall apart. Her strength hadn't changed all that much, but Hermione could still feel it, the sensation of failure. She understood intellectually that Miss Heart was dead and that she had healed physically but it didn't alter the nightmares that haunted her sleep or change the fact that being near anyone other than Gildart or someone with the Fairy Tail guild mark made her incredibly anxious.

Gildarts knew, that much Hermione was certain, for whilst he played the fool quite well, he was smart though not in the traditional sense. She also knew that he didn't know how to fix it, fix her. Gildarts had faced many a dark challenge in the years that passed but he'd _always_ had his guild to support him. Hermione had no such support network, though she claimed to know that her closest friends were alive, though inaccessible (or untraceable). Gildarts made up the entirety of Hermione's list of "adults to trust", he'd considered going back to Magnolia, seeing if Fairy Tail could help Hermione recover but having seen the mess of nerves and paranoia being in the small town of Clover exposing her to a city like Magnolia would not be good.

She was getting better at controlling her paranoia and the hand to hand combat training was definitely helping, giving her a confidence in herself that the betrayal had decimated. Her mechanics where also, surprisingly, helping greatly. Hermione claimed it was something to do with the grit and oil that her "tweaking" often resulted in was the therapeutic element but Gildarts wasn't so sure. Gildarts sat up when he realised how he could help Hermione, a great big smile splitting his face. One little trip could solve both Hermione's issues with people and how she manifest an type of offensive magic.

"I know two thing about that smile you've come up with a stupidly brilliant idea or you've thought of something that's impressively stupid." Hermione says when she notices his worryingly large grin.

"Aw have a little faith in your teacher," Gildarts whines. "Anyway we should start walking we've got a lot of ground we need to cover before we get to our destination!" He sang.

"Destination? We just finished that 10 year quest you got sent on, where on earthland would we need to go now?" Hermione asked puzzled. Gildarts wasn't prone to going off on random tangent journeys, mostly he would start a quest (often viewed as impossible) and complete it as quickly as he could, then he'd wait for the request letter to be sent for him and off he'd go again. Since Hermione was the one who more often than not chose the quest she would have known that they had to go somewhere specific.

"I need to see an old friend," Gildarts sad mysteriously.

"Utter bastard," Hermione whispered to herself though considering Gildarts smug smile it was likely he'd heard her swear. He was far too proud about the fact he could get her to swear.

"We're off to the wizard the wonderful wizard of…" Gildarts sang, in a ridiculous falsetto. Hermione still couldn't work out how songs like the wizard of Oz and the yellow brick road, and pop culture references had wormed their way into Fiore as well as reflections of the her worlds famed playwrights. Hermione shrugged, it was another problem for another day, so instead she dutifully picked up her things and trailed after the exuberant mage as he sang musicals down an empty forest path.

Hermione was annoyed. Scratch that she was downright pissed! Gildarts had made them walk for a good three days, refused to tell her where the hell they were going and was being as irritating (and trollish) about it as he could.

"Sometimes I wonder which amongst us is the child and the adult," She said primly as they walked up what Gildarts had promised was the last leg of the journey. "Can you please tell me who it is where seeing?" Hermione begged, puppy dog eyes and all.

Gildarts seemed to consider this for a few moments before saying "An old friend." The turned around in a swirl of dirty cape. Hermione snapped and launched her staff at his head. It made a satisfying thunk as it hit his head, though this did little other than make him laugh. "Merser Realight," Gildarts finally said causing Hermione's head to snap upwards and her jaw drop.

"Realight? As in legendary magic transfer engine creator Merser Realight?" Hermione said coming to a complete standstill.

"And if I said he was?" Gildarts said grinning, always finding it hilarious when her ice-queen cover broke and she fangirled (pf course she fangirled about the strangest things but it was the principal of the thing).

Hermione squealed and ran all the way to the top of the hill – when she saw the house at the bottom of the slope she began to squeal again, jumping about a foot in the air, steam pumping out of her cog work prosthetic. "Come on! Come on!" She yelled running down the hill. Gildarts continued at his "sedate" pace.

Hermione visibly pulled herself together once she got to the door step. The house was exactly what she imagined a genius of Realight's calibre living in. It was patchwork of materials, but highly efficient. "Is that a tertatic transference plate?" She cried spotting the twisting turret poking out through the roof. "Oh god that's a Hyonical water purifier!"

"Your pretty good kid where did you learn about Hyonics?" An old man asked from behind Hermione. Hermione spun around and stared, tongue tied. She had first "Seen" Merser Realight in the protective sleeve of his textbook explaining advanced mechanics. Except for reasons Hermione couldn't quite explain he was much more handsome than the pictures ever gave him credit for.

Merser Realight was a greying blond, with dark grey eyes and with a level of muscle definition that indicated years of labour rather than specific training. He was tall, taller than Gildarts by a good few inches and relatively clean shaven, though he had the barest hint of a five O'clock shadow. Hermione could feel her cheeks heating up.

"G, g, g, good morning Sir Realight," curtsying low and praying that her hair, which was mercifully loose, would cover her blush. Gildarts laughter echoed around the valley in which the famed engineer's house was located. Hermione's blush escalated from faint pink to tomato red.

"Egh? Is that you Clive, thought your old carcass had been eaten by a dragon," Realight said conversationally, hefting the heavy crate he'd been holding onto the nearby porch.

"Only parts of it, yah greasy little bastard," Gildarts insulted cheerfully.

"Gildarts!" Hermione hissed.

"What?" Gildarts said grinning even wider in response. Realight chuckled slightly. "Anyway, let me introduce my apprentice Hermione Granger, Hermione meet my old friend Meser Realight, or Greaser to most."

"It really is an honour to meet you Sir Realight," bowing low again.

"Hermione's a big fan of yours, almost bought a poster and everything." Gildarts said with a laugh.

"Gildarts!" Hermione hissed, again, in embarrassment.

"Well you're obviously well informed, where did you study?" Realight or "Greaser" asked, after all Hyonics were university level technology.

"I'm mostly self-taught," Hermione replied fighting down her blush.

"Impressive," Realight replied giving her a small smile. "How'd a brain dead moron like you get a student who knows university level mechanics?" He was a little surprised that Gildarts of all people had a student so she had to be pretty special if he'd willingly address her as his apprentice.

"She chased me down in a forest," Gildarts replied brutally honest. Hermione immediately summoned her staff and wacked him across the head with it. "You're getting far good at that," Gildarts said with a scowl rubbing the bruise forming under his fingertip.

"Blitz attack," Hermione retorted sweetly. Realight laughed outright at her reply – this of course caused Hermione to resume her impersonation of a traffic light.

"Why don't you guys come, I think Jenny's made some biscuits." He said opening up the door and inviting them inside.

"Since when did a women willing live in your house Merser?" Gildarts said as he trampled indoors, heedless of the mud on his boots.

Hermione curtsied again and stepped in doors, carefully removing her boots, but leaving the leather casings of her legs on. Her socked feet made no sound of the stone floor.

"You didn't need to," Realight said taking Hermione cherry red cloak off her and hanging it up on the hallway hook.

"Ah uh, thankyou sir," Hermione stuttered, bolting to the safety of Gildarts presence.

"To your question Gildarts, Jenny's my niece, she's come to live with me whilst her parent are away in Bosco, some diplomatic thing and Jenny's magics starting to break though, they want her learn from me." Realight explained digging around in the cupboard until he removed several glasses and placed them on the table. "Beer, Juice or water?" He asks.

"Water please," Hermione asks demurely.

"Depends you still got some of that stuff your mother used to sell?" He asks.

"I think I've still got a bottle or two," Realight says chuckling. He fills up their respective glasses before taking his own seat. "So what brings you here? Does your arm need a tune up?"

"Nah, Hermione's been helping me with maintenance." Gildarts savouring the very good beer.

"Now I'm even more impressed not many people can work with something as complicated as a prosthetic." Realight says smiling at the brunette.

"Oh it wasn't that impressive its rather similar to maintain my own." Hermione replies modestly, seeing his odd look she points to her upper thigh. "I lost approximately 64% of my leg to an… to an attack." She says solemnly.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," He replies.

"Oi stop charming my student," Gildarts inserts, trying to lift the sombre mood that had settled in the kitchen. "Anyway Hermione here is why we're visiting, I was wondering if you'd be willing to teach Hermione the basis of Machina Soul. She's got the engineering know how but she needs to develop an array of offensive spells, at the moment she uses defensive tactics mostly but that won't work forever."

"That's a tall order, she'll need to have a good understanding of Soul magic." Realight says confused by the rather odd request.

"HA! Hermione could probably teach you a thing or two about soul magic Greaser." Gildarts replies with a laugh. At Realight raised brow Hermione explains her lost magic.

Realight whistles. "Well colour me impressed, where did you learn something like true Soul magic."

"Oh my god you're Duchess Aurora!" a little girl squeals, dropping the box she's carrying. Hermione stiffens at the name but forcibly relaxes. Realight does not miss this but does not comment.

"Hey kid, who are you?" Gildarts asks leaning back on his chair.

"My names Jenny who are you?" Jenny asks brightly all smiles and excited jumping. She couldn't be older than seven.

"Seriously!" Gildarts yelps comically falling from his chair. Hermione laughs outright as does Realight. Jenny turns her attention back to Hermione.

"Your grace can I have your autograph?" Curtsying a pretty but obviously more modern bow. Hermione responded instinctively, then realising what she'd done stood up fully and curtsied back properly knowing her knee jerk response whilst correct according to her station was not what Jenny Realight wanted. Jenny beamed and presented her with a copy of Sorcerers weekly in which her 'coronation' featured as the front cover and a pen. Hermione smiled and signed.

"Are you really here to study under Uncle Merser?" She asked, her big blue eyes wide.

"Well that depends on your uncle." Hermione replied diplomatically. Jenny immediately pinned her uncle with a glare, as if daring her uncle to refuse her hero and face the consequences.

"Well I can't very well say no now can I?" He replies good-naturedly, before nodding. Jenny cheered and Hermione smiled brightly.

It took three weeks for Hermione to achieve her first full battle form. It took hours for Realight to recover from his shock, normally it would take at least a few months to even be able to "understand" machinery even if you had a good base in engineering, achieving a battle form in that kind of timeframe wasn't just unheard of it was dam near impossible. Granted the Battle form was created through her prosthetic so it was easy to understand intellectually how she advanced so quickly but part of Realight was still reeling.

"I think I can see why you picked her up now." He told Gildarts as he watched from the porch dazed. Hermione was rocketing across the valley Jenny in her arms. Hermione's battle armour was odd in the sense it looked vaguely retro, reflecting the older steam era of engineering rather than a futuristic advancement (as his own battle forms took). Her wire wings left a trail of silvery smoke in its wake that seemed to fascinate the birds as the nipped in and out of the trail before it faded from sight.

Gildarts, who was also watching the pair with a fond smile spoke up. "Hermione is one of 6 kids I think will go down as the most powerful of our century."

"You picked out six?" Realight said looking at his old friend. It took a lot of potential or strength to impress Gildarts and for him to say that these kids could be the best in the century… that was a lot of potential.

"Any in Pegasus?" Asking after his old guild, which he retired from a few years ago. Gildarts shook his head.

"Five of them are official members of Fairy Tail, 1 of them I met on a job accidentally." Gildarts explained.

"Will I know of them?" Realight inquires.

"Maybe, first is Ezra Scarlett, last I heard she'd made S-Class at 15. Not sure what happened to her but she's kind like Hermione, her strength was forged in fire. Natsu Dragoneel is my next bet, apparently he was raised by a dragon would you believe. Kids got absolutely no sense, all that matters to him is being strong enough to support his guild. He challenged me 3 times, almost hospitalized him the first time, but the next morning there he was yelling about how this time he was gonna beat me black and blue." He told Realight nostalgically. "Next is his rival I suppose, Gray Fullbuster, bit more sensible but he's got a stubborn streak equal to Natsu. You rember Ur?"

Realight thought about it and nodded. "Yeah, she was one of the 10 saints before she died right?"

Gildarts nodded. "He learnt to channel his magic through his skin, I don't think he's even realised it yet and I'm fairly certain the others haven't either." Realight might as well have stayed in a state of perpetual shock.

"How olds he now?" Realight asked, still reeling from the fact anyone under the age of fifty could work out how to successfully exude their magic through their skin, the increased magic efficiency alone such a techniques could create made the users potential limitless given the right circumstances.

"About 16 or so now, most of them are that old now." Gildarts remarked still watching his student fly.

"Damm." Realight said shortly. "And the other 2?"

"Surprisingly, one of them the Heartifilia Kozan heir." Gildarts replied.

"What the society chick?" Realight only knew of the girl in question because of his niece.

"One and only, one of my clients asked me to destroy something for him and she was around at this guy's house for some kind of party or ball when I saw her, she was maybe 13 or so," Gildarts said thinking back. "Biggest thing I remember about her was the amount of magic that swirled around her, it was like trying to look at a star when I using my mage sight." Realight eyebrows rose at the somewhat… extravagant description.

"Yeah, yeah I know very flowery but there you go, apparently she's some kind of celestial wizard. Anyway, tried to talk to her to convince her to join Fairy Tail and all, once she eventually went professional but she'd upped and vanished." Gildarts said with a shrug.

"And the last one?"

"Now this brats funny. He's got the dam weirdest accent I've ever heard, kind of like Hermione's old accent mixed with a Galalu's, have absolutely no clue where he picked that one up. Seemingly he's from some island in the middle of the Grave Sea. Anyway, the master sent him to me about four years ago from some control training. Makarov told me that his magic was even more volatile than mine," Gildarts said shaking his head with a smile. "He wasn't kidding, I pissed off the kid and I shit you not a hurricane hit. When he lets his emotions go the weather reflects him."

"Brings a new meaning to the term pathetic fallacy," Realight said dryly.

"Managed to get roughly under control but he's a dam scary kid," Gildarts says. "If he wanted to topple the government I think he probably could, I don't think he really gets how smart he is which is kind of depressing but at the same vaguely reassuring. Granted he needs to stop telegraphing his tactics when he fights."

"Why's he so scary, Hermione has to have an extraordinary IQ, you don't find her terrifying," Realight says puzzled.

"Hermione likes to be knowledgeable for Knowledge's sake, this kid makes his rent money by hustling the Crocus Casinos."

"But aren't the Crocus Casino's famous for always rigging the big results?" Realight responds. When Gildarts nods, Realight's eyes goes wide and he chuckles weakly. "So he cons the con artists?"

"Yep, thankfully the guys got a protective instinct that rivals Natsu's and a very distinct moral compass." Gildarts says leaning back.

"So, no luck that Pegaus is going to take the title of Fiore's strongest guild for a while then."

"Not a chance."

"Bugger."


	9. Battles and consequences

Battles and Consequences

Ron's breathing was laboured, his eyes wide and pupils shrunken, swallowed by vicious violet as tinges of red flashes through as violently and suddenly as the lightning that was crackling above his head. Ron held back the rain on sheer will alone refusing to give Gray's opponent, Juvia of the Deep, any kind of power boost the rain would cause. He growled low in his throat when Aria simply smirked at his anger. That was his first mistake. He looks to Natsu and Ezra who stand before him and nods them on. They understand and vanish, moving on to face their true targets, Jose and Gajeel.

"My how cruel can this world be, to hand me a child whose head I must sever." The strongest of the elemental four cries, his words slicing through the air. Ron knew he could not lose this fight and expect to live. "I am Aria pinnacle of the Elemental four, who are you young pixie." Aria says, his stance far too casual.

"I'm not a pixie." Ron says his voice deceptively calm. The only thing he can feel is the all-consuming rage bubbling beneath his skin. He could see in his mind's eye Cana kneeling on the floor, struggling to stand up, yet doing just that to protect her guild. "My name is Ron Weasley, and I'm going to kick your windbag ass across the continent." Ron hissed, above him the thunder rumbled ominously. "You and your guild hurt my family, tried to take away Lucy, made Elfman cry and just generally pissed. Me. Off!" As his sentence ended, lightning struck him 3 times in immediate succession, and Ron heard Aria heartbeat pick up slightly, before falling into a steady rhythm. Aria thought he could take him, Ron laughed (internally) at the very idea – it was his second mistake.

"I'm so sad, I have to leave a corpse for the fairies to discover." Aria says, tears pouring out from underneath his blindfold.

"You're going down you bastard." Ron hissed, letting the first wave of energy collect in his fists.

"Oh there's simply nothing you can do." His words were cut off as he Ron zipped foreword and slammed his fist into the air Aria's head once occupied. Ron was not pulling his punches. Aria seemed to stand up a little straighter, though he still held himself in that annoyingly casual stance, the tilt of his head is almost calculating. "You are strong for one so young," He says.

"Dude, you haven't got a clue," Ron says launching himself at Aria once more, moving at breath taking speeds, lighting sparking off his body at violent angles as they left the focus of his attack.

"Your bolts cannot defeat my airspace, I am so sorry," Aria cries pitifully before speaking again. " _Zetsu,"_ he intones, the spell causing multiple blasts of wind to careen towards Ron, who smirks at how uninformed his foe is.

Ron flicks his wrists and the deadly blasts twist in on themselves, forming small hurricanes on either side him, he grins when he sees Aria snarl in annoyance.

"So you too use the great element of air, it matters not though, for it is so sad you must meet a fate so like your masters." He says disappearing and reappearing above Ron. " _Metsu"_ he calls.

For a few moments it seems to work, until Ron begins to laugh. He laughs loud and harsh, with a tinge of hysteric edged in, for good measure.

"You really are stupid, you know. Or maybe unlucky is better description." Ron says, eyes closed, almost relaxed. He floats upwards slightly and the air that had moments before served Aria swarms around the pair though Aria knows that it's not him that the wind obeys.

 _"_ _Dragon Slayers secret art, Tempest's blade; Storm Dragon's fist."_ His fist smashes into Aria jaws sending him careening into the floor, remnants of the powerful spell still coating his fists in a glow of white, black and purple light.

"H-h-how…" Aria stutters, his jaw shattered.

"See unlike most, I don't get my magic just from within, my magic mostly stems from up there." Ron says casually, pointing to the thunderstorm outside the moving guild. "Now I've got go support my guild, whilst they kick your collective ass."

"Well that's another record made and a rich bastard pissed off!" Gildarts says gleefully.

"I worry for you," Hermione says as they leave the now ruined fortress. Seeing that Gildarts wasn't listening a word of what she said she looks into her back pack and pulls out her planner. "Right, this week we need to go to Magnolia and reapply for our Mage licenses so no more jobs, right Gildarts." When Hermione looks up and sees Gildarts stock still with sweat rolling down his forehead, her eyes narrow and she feels her face twitch.

"You didn't book another job did," Hermione asks, a dangerous almost violent edge to her words.

"Ha ha ha ha ha," Gildarts laughs shrilly, backing up quickly.

"Because you've known for weeks that we have to visit Magnolia, so obviously you haven't taken up another job." Hermione says taking a few menacing steps towards him, Gildarts scrambles even further back, his haste almost comical.

"Well, you see, what I mean is, how do you define take on a job?" He asks sweating bullets now.

"Allow me to clarify, have you accepted a request to perform or fulfil a particular task. Now, did you take a job?" Hermione is mere millimetres from his face now.

"Um, well, yes?" He squeaks, he can deal with the embarrassment later, but when Hermione's schedules were mixed up she could be dam scary. Hermione staff whacks him across the back of his head, causing him to yelp (yeah, his dignity had definitely gone on vacation).

He falls to the floor cupping the bruise blooming under his fingertips. "Where do you keep that thing," he whines. Hermione does not deign him with a response, but instead begins to pace up and down the clearing.

"We're at least 2 weeks from the Fiorian border, and at least another 4 days to get to Crocus, I might be able to get a train ride from Crocus down to Magnolia, but I still need to visit the descendants and tone down the castle wards again…" Hermione thought aloud, eventually her mutterings trailed off until her words were inaudible to Gildarts.

"Hmmm… What?" Hermione's thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of her adapted Lacrima phone. "I really need to work out how to add an identification to callers," Hermione says as she opens the flip phone and answers. "Granger answering, who is this? Mira? What happened? They've done what! I suppose I could… but I'm too far away, I mean I could travel via my battle form I suppose but even I won't be there fast enough for the trial. Do you think you can delay it?" Hermione says rapidly. "No you cannot delay them by blowing something up! Well restrain him then, there's no way I can vindicate him if he's doing something as stupid as attacking the capitol!"

"Did I join a guild or a pack of wolves? " Hermione asks the sky.

"What was that about?" Gildarts asks, the pair very rarely received unexpected calls.

"I sometimes wonder if it's the nature of Fairy Tail to get into the impossible or if the presence of the most insane Mages in the country simply nurture these death wishes in my guild mates." Hermione replies, not really answering his question.

"Huh?"

"Fairy Tail is going to trial because of their involvement in a war, never mind the fact we didn't start the dam thing." She hissed, "Anyway, I need to go now if I want to make it to Masters Trial since I'm the only one who can legally represent Master – and that midget does need representation or he's going to do something stupid like insult a member of the council." She sends a pointed glare at her mentor.

"Hey, I apologised, sort of." Gildarts says raising his arms defensively.

"You heckled him, Gildarts. On Christmas eve." She says completely unimpressed by his excuses.

"So my form of apology might be slightly different to yours." Gildarts says obtusely. Hermione's left eye twitches violently before stilling.

 _"_ _Battle form: Express."_ She calls and in a shower of red and orange sparks Hermione transforms, her black blouse and skirt vanishing and in its place sleek futuristic panels merge together to form a pair of grey trousers. Her torso is covered by a slightly… revealing charcoal top (cough* bikini* cough) and several white fastenings around her biceps and wrists.

"Gildarts don't you dare destroy anything whilst I'm gone." Hermione says throwing in her lasts words before disappearing in a blur, a few moments later a boom slams through the air as she breaks the sound barrier.

"When did Hermione become a barrister?" Gildarts wonders as he walks to his next destination.

"What the hell." Gajeel swear as a young girl comes pelting down the corridor in various stages of undress. Her long, white skirt undone on one side, her whiskey coloured mini-blazer and matching tie askew, clutched between her teeth is a beige folder and pierced through her bun was the strangest stick he's ever seen (it had bells for Christ sake).

"Do excuse me she says coming to stop in front of the Phantom Lord group." She says, her accent just as odd, in fact the only time he'd heard an accent that odd was when that ginger brat dragged in Aria unconscious body into the room that he'd been fighting Dragoneel in.

"Don't suppose you could help me?" She says turning to Juvia, the bluenette blinks in utter shock then raises her cuffed arms up for her to see. The girl blinks as well, tilts her head and murmurs " _Alohomora_ ," Gajeel's jaw drops when the magic restraining cuffs the Rune Knights had forced on all of his guild mates being trialled falls to floor in clatter.

One the guards stutters a few weak denials before being hushed by the disinterested girl. "Oh hush, what sensible wizard, I mean mage, attacks right before their own trial." She says.

"Yes your grace," the say hesitantly back. Gajeel's, pierced brow rises even further. Her grace?

Juvia dutifully helps her tie up her old fashioned skirt and tuck her, surprisingly, resilient hair into a neat plait. "Thank you, I was in Bellum earlier this morning and travelling that fast does not help you arrive presentably, Hermi-," She cuts herself off, "Duchess Aurora." Gajeel does not miss the stark difference between the name she wanted to introduce herself with and what she actually introduced herself as. She curtsies in the kind of way that is far too old fashioned, Gajeel notes. The numerous jobs as hired guns of snobs who share a status equal to "Aurora" having taught him so much. Juvia curtsy's back, and even smiles, which is weird because Juvia doesn't smile. Or at least she doesn't smile unless she's going absolutely berserk and at that point it's less of a smile and more of a terrifying baring of teeth.

"I must be going, who knows what the Master might have said by now, but if either of you require representation, please don't hesitate to call," She's smiling an officious yet still somehow genuine beam.

"Representation?" Juvia asks.

"Well, yes, you know in court. I'm surprised more mages don't have lawyers considering how often they're dragged here. My guild has me employed as a sort of pre-emptive lawyer, stop the cases before they even reach the points of a subpoena – saves a lot of grief I've found."

"Juvia can have a lawyer?" Juvia asks, eyes wide with shock, rain still dripping down her forehead, as that perpetual raincloud continued to fall over her head.

"Of course, though your lawyer has to be of a certain skill level. Or insane," Aurora mutters the last bit as she looks distastefully towards the large set of doors at the end of the corridor. "I really must be going, if you want me, I should be free in the next two hours." She smiles and then hurries off, her sensible heels making a clicking sound as she marched. She stops for a moment turns back and chuck Juvia small package from under her min-blazer. Juvia catches it and is surprised to see a lovely cream parasol expand from it. "You look like you need it more than me,"

Juvia stares at the parasol in wonder but finds she doesn't need it, today she had met the second person to push away her clouds. Gajeel stares with gobsmacked eyes, not at the parasol but at the inscription written onto the handle.

"Holy shit," he swears, "That's a granger original make, where the hell does she come across a granger shrinking Parasol?!" Jaw unhinged. Granger (no one knew his first name, only that he was the student of legendary inventor Messer Realight) was the most respected engineer of the moment, his recent release of the atmospheric magic translator had completely changed the game as far as long distance transportation. "And since when did 10 year olds become Duchess's?"

"Good morning, Councillors, pardon my entrance, air traffic over Bosco was horrendous," Hermione says, her smile blinding.

"Duchess Aurora, to what do we owe the… joy, of your esteemed company." Councilmen Michello utter disgust lacing his words and his sneer causing his whiskery moustache to fizz amusingly.

"Councilmen Michello, what a pleasure to see you again, I hope you've had some leeway in getting around my castles enchantments in recent month, the spirits tell me you've been quite insistent." The smile she sends him is far too sharp to be called sweet, it's more like a poisonous snake rearing its head to remind its fellow animals how deadly it could be. "Now, I've managed to get to grips on the preface of the trial whilst I was travelling but I wanted the council to remind me why exactly my client was being dragged from his guild whist they were in the middle of their recovery from something as distressing as a direct attack on our guild?"

Master Makarov wakes up instinctively. "Uhm, uh yes." He agrees, having no idea as to what he's agreeing to. Hermione barely restrains from rolling her eyes. Barely.

"Well, your guild did wage war with another guild, violating the mage charters fourth clause, little miss." Ultear says, raising a delicate brow, giving her a condescending smile.

"I was under the impression that the Council adheres to convention of titles 5th seat councilwoman Ultear Milkovich." Hermione parries effortlessly, reminding the council that this was not someone they could intimidate simply through their status as members of the magic council. Hermione, whilst a first generation select, was a member of the upper nobility, whose rank could only be surpassed by the royals themselves and a few select members of the Fiorian elite.

"Of course Duchess Aurora," Ultear, not very amiably, agrees. Seigrain watches the proceeding with distinct amusement. Hermione rubs salt into the wound by nodding graciously, causing Ultear's famed cold indifference to splinter slightly. The women had never liked one another.

"To return to the task at hand, I ask if my client had addressed his right as the Master of fairy Tail to invoke clause 23 of the Masters statute regarding threats to junior members of their guild."

"All members of the guild involved in the battle, Duchess Aurora were not junior members, most have been members of the guild for up to 5 years thus nullifying Master Makarovs right to claim that particular clause." Councilmen Org replies.

"Not necessarily," 6th seat council member Yajima defends Fairy Tail (he does love it when Duchess Aurora came to court, it was nice to have some support from someone who actually knew how the legal system functioned). "In the original translation a junior member was regarded as a member yet to reach the age of majority."

"However, those who choose to become S-Class wizard forfeit their junior status," Michello countered. Always one to stick it to Fairy Tail, was Michello.

"You don't mean to imply that all of fairy Tail are S-class, Councilmen?" Hermione asks piously. "Regardless, I was in fact discussing the first victims of Phantom Lords assault on my guild, a Levy McGarden, age 17. Who is neither an S-Class wizard or particularly violent, as you once called my guild mates on an earlier occasion I believe? Miss McGarden is renowned for her skills in translation and scribe magics, and she hasn't in recent years destroyed large swathes of the countryside like some of my more… excitable guild mates." Hermione states, holding up on of her files, with a picture of the girl in question.

"Excitable? You're calling the destruction of an entire valley the work of an 'excitable' guild member?" Gran Doma, the current chairman asks incredulously.

"Yes, well if we are to carry down this path I have some fairly convincing arguments concerning the economic benefit Fairy Tail's _unintentional_ destruction brings to Fiore," Hermione counters, only the faintest hint of strain in her voice. A few of the Rune knights present, who had experience in law were suitably impressed by her ability to bullshit the council (or more politely 'present information in a way beneficial to the client'). One of the knights bandied about phrases like "lots of practice" and considering who her mentor was, the other knights could easily see something like this becoming a talent of her grace.

The council deliberated for another hour before, begrudgingly vindicating both Fairy Tail and its master. Once outside the courtroom she breathed a sigh of relief before turning to Makarov.

"Master, I'm glad everything worked out, but what on God's green earth were you thinking?" Hermione exclaimed.

"I wasn't thinking all that much," Makarov said brutally honest. "But they hurt my children and I will let anyone besmirch my honour, but to lay a hand on any of my children, new or old, will always invoke my fury."

Hermione sighed. "Of course you would, look master I need to go and represent a young women in the next," She stopped and opened the pocket watch under her bolero, "10 minutes, but could you please see to it that I don't have to represent anyone in the next couple of months I have a few tasks I need to fulfil."

"You tracked down the last of the descendants?" Makarov asked, genuinely curious, he knew from his letters with Gildarts of the Duchess's self-imposed mission.

"Yes sir," She said smiling a true smile for the first time. "I think I met one of them earlier today, he was with the young woman I think I'll be representing." Makarov nodded sending her on. As she ran to her next court appearance Makarov considered the odd girl his Ace had apprenticed. Whilst certainly one of the most skilled mages of her age Makarov had met, she didn't have the overwhelming magical presence he'd have expected from someone studying under Gildarts. Then he considered her single-handed defeat of the council in the court room and reconsidered his classification as harmless, sweating slightly.

"Duchess Granger a word if you please?" A smooth voice called, interrupting Hermione's evaluation of the punishment agreements for her two newest clients, Juvia Lockser and Gajeel Redfox (the latter she would have to talk to again in order to make him worthy of his status as a survivors descendent).

Hermione turned around with smile only to falter slightly. "Councilmen Seigrain Ferdenanz," Curtsying low in a mark of deference.

"It is Granger that you prefer? I'm told you have a certain dislike of being addressed as aurora." He said charmingly.

"It isn't always pleasant to remind one of a name forced upon you, sir." Talking to Seigrain was always a bit of double-edged sword for Hermione. On the one hand, Seigrain's deep soul was a thing of beauty, it was Hermione imagined, the kind of soul Harry might possess. On the other hand, the outer soul was something so eerily like Miss Heart that she could feel the anxiety close in on her.

"No I imagine not, Duchess Granger have had the chance to eat yet?" He inquired, still very charming.

"No sir, but I'm afraid I must be going, I've many things to do you see and –"

"Duchess, I must insist, there is a small Café mere minutes down the road and it would be an honour to dine with you this afternoon," he was laying it on a bit thick in Hermione opinion, after all she appeared to all intents and purposes to be no older than 12, she wasn't a young women waiting to swept off her feet into a whirlwind romance. Knowing that Hermione didn't really have the option to refuse, or risk causing a scene, Hermione agreed and took the crook of his elbow when he offered it.

As promised there was a lovely café a few minutes down the road from the magic council's base of operations. Its neat settings and excellent customer service gave it a modest air and quality few establishments could claim.

"Tea and a tart, if you will," Hermione asked the waitress, who was a sweet polite young women, who Hermione deduced had fallen on hard times. She made a note to herself to leave her an extra-large tip. Seigrain ordered coffee and a small selection of cakes.

"So I must ask Duchess where did you learn to defend so well? I was quite impressed with your performance at both Master Dreyars trial as well as the trials of Miss Lockser and Gajeel Redfox, though your choice to represent the very people who attacked your closing argument was something of confusing choice." Seigrain says partaking in small talk as they sipped on their drinks.

"I'm mostly self-taught. I suppose after the fourth time I was dragged before a jury to defend my mentor in court I just decided to get an official degree in the subject. I completed it on a long distance, employment degree. It took approximately a year to finish all the exams required of me, granted I was on the accelerated course." She neatly sidestepped his questions on her choice to represent Phantom lords more notorious members.

"Well, I suppose with a man like Gildarts Clive as your teacher you must be quite experienced with such events," He says willingly allowing the topic to be dropped, it wasn't why he was here after all.

"Yes, he does have a habit of getting into trouble," Hermione replies chuckling slightly. When her raspberry and lemon tart arrived she immediately complimented the dish and discussed it's brilliance of the café with Seigrain.

"As lovely as it is to discuss the aesthetic and intrinsically pleasing qualities of favourite café they are not why I requested your presence this afternoon." Seigrain says, Hermione is starting to become aware of _something_ in the conversations undercurrents.

"No I didn't suppose it was, though it has been a lovely outing." Hermione replies, sighing slightly, placing her teacup back on the saucer with barely a rattle. "What is it you require of me then?"

"Duchess I would like to ask you to join the council." There it was again, that strange sensation that rippled over Hermione's skin, leaving an unsettling quality in her stomach.

"Pardon?" She responded, internally scrambling to identify that fundamentally 'off' feeling.

"You wouldn't take a seat straightaway of course, you'd need to work in the Rune Knight army for several years before hand, and unfortunately sever your direct ties with your guild, but that won't be too hard considering you only know a few of members personally."

With a sick feeling, Hermione identifies exactly what it was she was feeling; a compulsion spell. Hermione begins to shudder, remembering her time as a captive of Miss Heart and tries to control the panic of being unable to defend herself without risking civilians. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to politely reject your offer sir, and request that you remove the compulsion spell immediately." Her fist closed around the edge of skirt tightly.

Instead of being surprised by her detection of his spell, he seemed pleased that she had noticed. "Incredible, you really are one of the most sensitive mages I have ever met, or at least the most sensitive mage that's still sane." Seigrain considers, watching with fascination as the little girl before him begins to shudder more violently, unable to fight off a comparably weak spell, gripped in the throe of her living nightmare. "Don't worry about anyone noticing our little chat, illusions are one of better magics."

"Release me," A grey pentagram forming in her eyes, her voice taking on an eerily apathetic quality as she retreated totally within herself, leaving the spirits she had relied on so long ago to protect her. Obviously she did not trust herseslf not to become violent in public.

"Well, well, who. Are. you? You're certainly not miss Granger." Seigrain starring at her with an unhinged level of fascination.

"We are those that have fallen to slumber amongst the earth, release us possessor, or we will be forced to bring harm to your host." Hermione intones, though it obviously not her speaking.

"Possessor? I'm afraid I don't understand you spirits," Seigrain says calmly taking a sip of his coffee.

"You understand fine, release us." They repeat, when he does not move they reach back and grasp the small decorative stick pierced through the centre of her plait. Then they reach forward and murmur something in the tongue of the dead. Seigrain feels it burn onto his chest and stands up, unintentionally disrupting his illusion. At the same time, Hermione collapses, head lolling on the back of her chair, the strain of acting as a host for the dead too much for her take.

"What happened?" their waitress comes scurrying back, having been alerted by one of the distressed customers. Seigrain pulls himself together, knowing he can't let a little girl meddle with the plans he had been building for close to a decade now.

"I'm not sure, I think her magic went into overload, I was told that her magic was sensitive to numbers but I didn't realise…" intentionally trailing off and putting on his most worried face.

The waitress performs a series of surprisingly effective checks before nodding in agreement. "Magical fatigue complicated by long-term compulsion exposure. What relation to her are you," the woman says putting herself between, what she views as a potential abuser and a child (an unusually astute assumption by a civilian).

"Mage Councillor Seigrain, I was offering Duchess Granger an apprenticeship with the council when." Seigrain put as much natural charm and concern into his expression as possible and was pleased to see the waitress (and possible healer) relax somewhat.

"She should be okay in a couple of hours, is she part of a guild sir?" The waitress asks.

"I'll take her back, it's my fault for taking her to somewhere so dense." Seigrain says moving forward as if to pick her up.

"I'm sorry sir but I must insist that she picked up by a guild mate or family member," not that relaxed it seems, if Seigrain wasn't so annoyed at being thwarted, he'd of been impressed. "The more familiar she is with the person, the better I'm afraid."

"Very well, I believe her Guild master is still in the area," Seigrain says, nodding as if in complete agreement with the medical professional. Seigrain teleports away and reluctantly gets Granger's guild master. He considers taking as long as possible but he knows that perception is everything and if he's seen as anything other than worried and striving to help her, some people (other than the waitress) might question how she was 'reintroduced' to the spell that caused a relapse.

He's tempted after it's all over, and she'd recovered, heading on a train to the station nearest her impenetrable castle for a week of required rest, to have her killed in her sleep, as the mark on his chest burns in his sleep, stirring up memories of his times before becoming Zeref's chosen. The mark rouses feelings that he had buried a long time ago. The feelings he felt as he watched the other slaves when they were working on tower of heaven; He restrain these emotion as he's always done and focuses. The Tower was reaching its final stages, all it would require would be the last sacrifice – and what better a sacrifice than the slave that escaped, whose bright heart once sparked a revolt amongst the slaves?

Yes, it was too close to completion to risk it on a little girl already damaged by Zerref's experiments.


	10. Butterfly effect

Butterfly Effect

Hermione woke in a cold sweat, her breathing harsh and her stomach flip-flopping around like she'd just exited the rollercoaster of her life. Groaning she sits up, noting dimly that it was still dark outside, the capitols city lights shining through the curtains. Hermione stood up and wandered out onto the spacious balcony. Looking up she also noticed that the moon was huge above her head, covering most of the sky.

"A super moon, huh?" Hermione says starring up at the glowing orb, then she frowns. She wasn't quite sure what is was but something was off. Looking around she spots nothing noticeable until she sees it, the glowing golden string that spun from her back all the way through the mountain range and off into the distance. "Oh not again," She whines, but sitting up dutifully and settling into her meditation pose. In her relaxed state, the golden string grows in size and tautness and as her astral form leaves her body images begin to wash over her. First she's surrounded by fire and spears, uniformed men sneering down at her and throwing her into a group of young children. The scene changes and she still small, red hair longer but otherwise the same, yet now she's dressed even worse than she was before, a dirty, rag-like tunic her only article of clothing, not even shoes upon her feet. Wrapped around her bony wrists, a pair of manacles cut into the soft flesh. Looking at it she feels waves of revulsion, fear and hatred crest through her. She feels devoid of hope, weak.

The world changes again, though the setting is the same she is smiling, she's peeling potatoes in a kitchen with an old man who is using the peeled skins to teach her numbers. Another boy, with dark skin and golden hair runs underneath her feet, arms wrapped around her waist. There are more people, smiling at her and their names fill her thoughts. Simon, Millianna, Wally and most importantly of all Jellal. She lives for the strong blue haired boy, with bright eyes and wild dreams that he tells her as they work. Dreams of learning magic like old man Rob, dreams of seeing lakes that are bigger than mountains and joining the fabled 'Fairy Tale'. Looking at the boy Hermione is able to separate herself from the girls whose life she is reliving and really _see._ She sees that beautiful red string that ties together most blessed of couples, entwining the pair in their mutual love, protecting one another from the draining nature of their prison. Then the awareness leaves her and she is once again lost in the memories of another's life.

This time is unhappy again, terror racing through her heart as she hauled before her enslavers, threats hanging above their heads like a guillotine. She turns her head and she's watching the girl with scarlette hair is hauled away, knowing that she won't survive for long despite her efforts to save her. The other are calling her Jellal now, asking her how they can save Ezra but she's lost in sea of confusion terror clouding her mind until there is only one thought left in her mind – Save Ezra.

They're running through a dark twisted hall, following the harrowing cries of a desperate child. The chains pinning the slave girl fall to the floor with a clank and feels horror drown them as they see what they've done to her beautiful expressive eyes. They seizes up when they feel a hand close around their throat.

The scene changes once again, now their sitting on a throne, their sinking in a maelstrom of darkness, the tattoo burned across his face a throbbing reminder of the parasite that makes itself at home within them and the price he must pay to finally be free. At first he keeps his word to his friends, he makes them strong and give them the treasures they deserve but years pass and they become less important the emotions that once drove him lost to the pit growing within. Hermione has to separate from him now, the toxic energy too much for her own, scarred soul. Hermione weeps as she sees what terrible cards fate deals to these joined souls. She's watching them walk side by side, though they are miles apart. Both gain recognition for their strength, gaining titles and infamy in their own rights. And yet where her light grows strong, the spark that makes up 'Jellal' fades as the years go by until there is little left to him but a broken shell of his former self. It would take a miracle to return him to what he once was.

It's at that moment that Hermione realises what it is that they (or whoever it is that has control over these trances) want and what it is she must do. When she descends into the centre of a battle field, Ezra and Jellal fighting one another, she does not hesitate, she dives in and fights for the tragic pair.

"You can't expect to beat me, at any moment I'll gain the last set of votes I need to set off etherion and the tower will be complete." Jellal says a mad gleam in his eyes.

For the first time in years, Ezra feels tears well up in her good eye. Then she heard it. It started as a whisper, a quiet murmuring until it was so loud that everyone could hear. "What is this?" Jellal hissed, his tattoo glowing as the shimmering smoke began to condense and fill the room until in the very centre, beneath the crystal chandelier a figure immerged. Dressed in clothes reminiscent of an ancient priestess, a circlet set in platinum encircling her small head.

"Duchess Aurora?" Lucy spoke gobsmacked, recognising the girl from her occasional magazine cover and the charity functions she'd previously attended.

"Good evening," the duchess says with a smile but her eyes were unfocused – as if she wasn't quite… there.

"What are you doing here?!" Jellal roared, a foreign voice distorting his timbre, before he howled and fell to the floor, a mark underneath his shirt glowing a strange silver colour.

"Hey smoke lady, can't you see we're in the middle of fight here," Natsu shouts, still a little woozy and shaky on his feet, but still standing. Ezra almost laughs.

"My apologies, but it is not Jellal Ferdenanz you must fight and until your enemy is rejected by his host you can only win a hollow victory." The duchess says, addressing the dragon slayer.

"What?" Natsu says completely thrown by strange words and odd tone.

"Shush, Natsu can't you see she's in a trance?" Lucy says elbowing her teammate.

"SHUT UP!" Jellal screams again, that strange timbre to his voice still present. He's on his knees now thrashing his head up and down screaming. It's so painful to watch that the former slaves cannot bear to look.

"Jellal you need to fight it, you have to, for their sake." The duchess repeats herself. She takes a step closer.

"No! Stay away, make it stop!" Jellal screams in agony.

"You're hurting him," Millana whispers.

"He's remembering," Hermione explains sadly. "He's remembering who he really is and it hurts, I know." Hermione steps forward again, she's mere paces away now. "He's been possessed for so long now it's difficult to separate the man from the demon."

"Possessed?" Ezra asks, suddenly she can see it in her mind's eye, the boy that attacked her with darkness magic red eyes glaring down at her maniacally, but Hermione is paying no attention to her now, all of her energy is focused on the howling figure in front of her. She bends down and touches the blood red tattoo staining his cheeks and suddenly the room is gone and they're bathed in white.

"What the hell!" Gray yells as he tries to steady himself in the unending space, the others scramble to do so as well. The most successful are Milliana and Lucy. Lucy quickly hushes them all and stares with wide eyes. Across the space Jellal floats undisturbed.

Jellal opens his eyes and feels the most at peace he had ever felt. "Did it work? Am I in heaven?" Jellal asks. His eyes widen further when he sees the spirit of Zeref that he'd come face to face with so long ago. A few paces away is the Duchess Granger, dressed in clothes he had never seen her wear before that moment (wholly unpractical given the circumstance and the Duchess was always dressed for the occasion).

"Let me in, chosen one." Zeref's spirit croons, "We're so close and you'll find your true freedom."

Jellal, conditioned over so many years, immediately tries to fulfil its request only for a shield to materialize in front of him causing the mutilated creature to fall back hissing.

"Jellal, you can't let it win," Hermione says. "Do you really think it is right, what you're doing? Does Ezra think it is right?" Hermione says, her eyes soft.

"I-I-I," Jellal doesn't know what to do, his mind has never been so clear and yet he can't choose. He knows Ezra rejects what she sees. She's standing all the way across the room dressed in armour and covered in injuries he knows he's caused. He shudders, it would be so easy, he thinks, to just give in stop thinking and let Zeref's hate spurn him on. The shield wavers and the spirit cackles gleefully and dives forward. Ezra sees this and screams, in a blink of an eye, in this strange half world, he sees her thrown head first at it. Jellal yells as the demons poison begins to seep into Ezra's skin.

"No! Stop! Stop! Stop!" He cries, but the demon doesn't stop too lost in its feast of festering misery to hear its vessel cry.

"Jellal, only you can stop it here," Hermione whispers in the edge of his mind, time is slowing down even further, to point all he can hear is the Duchess.

"But, but its so hard," He cries brokenly.

"I know," Hermione tries to comfort him, but Jellal lashes out.

"No you don't!" He thundered and suddenly the hate began to fester again, tiny portions of the demon dripping out of his tattoo. "You don't know anything, you don't know what it's like to have everything taken from you for no reason at all! They killed so many of us and…" He began to hiccup as the bitter memories came washing in, drowning him in their violent, hateful embrace.

Time resumed and the demon, sensing his hatred turns to face him once more, leaving Ezra's trembling form on the Towers crystal floor. Hermione could do nothing but watch, unable to help despite her best effort.

"Jellal!" A scream cuts across the room, Jellal looks up and sees that its Sho, tears in his eyes, his fists clenched tight crying for…him? "Wake up!" He shouts. The other slaves take up the call, crying their own words of encouragement.

"Jellal," the quiet word slices through everything and he stares down in shock as Ezra begin to stand up, knees shaking and arms quaking, but she gets up, her eyes staring him down.

"Ezra," he whispers back, shock and awe keeping him silent. How can she, after everything that's happened, after what he did to Simon, everything he's done to _her_ can she stand up and look at him.

"Please," She whispers, "We want you back, Jellal, don't, don't let it win," Her knees give in and Jellal reaches forward catching her before she hits the ground. Her eyes fight to stay open, and there is a sad smile on her face. She reaches up a gauntleted hand, which dissolves into plain skin, along with the rest of her armour. She smiles and then falls silent, Jellal feels his scream work his way up his throat.

"She can't be dead, no, no, no," Jellal cries. "I won't let you!" And with that he begins to glow, bathed in blinding light that worked its way through his body and into her near lifeless one. At the same time the mark on his chest begins to shine with its own golden radiance and the demon gave an unearthly scream, as the very fabric of its existence was ripped apart. Then the light fade and Jellal feels the relief course through his veins when he hears the steady pumping of Ezra's heart. "You're okay," He whispers to her, "You're okay." He pressed his forehead against hers, "I'm so sorry." Ezra smiles and lifts her hands to his cheeks and wipes away the tear tracks rolling down his cheeks.

"Your Tattoo's gone," She tells him, smile blinding.

"It is?" He asks, giving a few watery chuckles.

"Jellal!" Jellal looks up and shocked to see all of his friends running towards him, even the reserved Simon, who sweeps them all up into tight embrace amongst his massive arms.

"What the hell just happened?" Natsu asks stupidly, kind of annoyed that fight had stopped so suddenly (of course he was happy that Ezra was happy but the last 20 minutes had just been really weird).

"Shut up," Lucy shouted, delivering a solid kick, sending the flamethrower into a nearby wall before returning to crying over the beauty of the scene before her.

"What's going on?" A councillor shouts as right in the middle of Seigrain's speech he collapsed onto the floor. His form then began to splinter and disintegrate much to Ultear's shock. Then just as suddenly a strangely dressed Duchess Aurora burst through the door, heedless to the guards shouts.

"Duchess Aurora? What is this madness?" Org booms.

"Be quiet, and let the girl speak, she would not contact us in such a way if it was not important," Yajima pipes up, recalling the distaste the Duchess had for the clothes created by her more powerful Soul magic. The councillors fall silent and wait for her to speak.

"Good evening," She says, smiling brightly despite the hostility. "I apologise but 4th seat councilmen Seigrain will not be available in the coming weeks, as he will be recovering from the long term effects of his recently broken curse."

The council is silent for a moment and then they begin to shout in shock. The chairman raises a hand, causing all discussions to fall silent. "Regardless, we must continue to vote on the topic at hand, thank you Duchess Aurora for bringing such important news."

"Oh it's no bother at all, and their no need to vote on whether or not to fire etherion, since both the councilmen's curse and the events at the tower of heaven have been solved. I believe that Seigrain described Jellal as his brother, correct?" She asks, in way that the Chairman can only describe as… giddily.

"Yes," Yajima says nodding, somewhat confused.

"Well that's not strictly true, I suppose from his view point it could be seen as such but the reality is actually quite different, Jellal and Seigrain are the same person, split by a curse cast when he was enslaved under a cult of Zeref." The duchess dropped bombshell still smiling perkily.

"And this is what you wish us to know," Yajima inquires shrewdly. The Duchess giggled inappropriately at that.

"Yes elder, I hope you all have a good day and that you don't let the traitor get away too quickly," She looks directly at Ultear at this point, snaps her finger and her true guild mark shines through her clothes; the guild mark of Tartarus. Huh, well that explained the instantaneous dislike he had for the girl. "Enjoy your evening." She waves goodbye and disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving the council to deal with the consequences of her reveal.

Ultear, predictably did not go quietly into custody, instead she leaves in an explosion of the council in a pile of rubble, psychotic grin painted across her face – a sight which will haunt many of the guards memories for years to come. The damage her actions (and to an extent Seigrain's abrupt departure) caused to the councils reputation was considerable but not deadly, despite the councils humming and hawing of "lost respect" and the need to crack down on "Lawbreakers". Not that these sorts of things wouldn't happen again, despite the councils claims to the contrary. The council was made up of humans after all, no matter how powerful they are.

Hermione, in her magic high found the whole thing hilarious and took off to Magnolia following her instincts. Of course when she woke up 2 weeks later, on the side of the road, lying atop her trunk she was far less amused.


	11. Reuniting

Reuniting

In the days following the events at the Tower of Heaven, the guild was buzzing with the news of their, previously unknown, royal member.

"She smelt really weird that's all I'm gonna say," Natsu complained after the 30th person asked him about the Duchess Aurora.

"Speak of the devil look who's here," Macao remarked, spotting the girl as she moved slowly through the guild.

"Hey smoke girl," Natsu yelled. "Hey!"

"Shush," she hissed, it was at this point that everyone realised that the (in) famous Duchess was wearing sunglasses and was sort of hunched over.

"Is she hung over?" Wakaba questioned, somewhat disbelieving that the royal the magazines were hailing as a hero would be hung over – particularly since she was supposed to be underage.

"Hey Duchess fight me!" Natsu yelled, only to fall to the floor, birds circling his head after Ezra's fist was slammed into his head.

"The guild hall is not a place for fighting!" She yelled, ignoring how the other sweat dropped and commented on the fact she was fighting. Ezra turned and faced the duchess, who during the commotion had continued shuffling forwards (though not very quickly).

"Duchess Aurora, I am deeply grateful of your help during our battle in the Tower of Heaven, if in the future should you require any assistance I swear an oath to come to your side immediately." The serious woman said, bowing low.

"A little over the top, don't you think Ezra?" Gray remarked.

The girl in question stopped, slowly turned around and gingerly removed her sunglasses. "What on earth are you talking about?" She whimpered.

The guild fell to the floor in shock. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW!" they yelled in unison, if Hermione wasn't suffering from the one of the worst headaches she'd ever experienced she might have been impressed, as it was she scrambled to quiet them down.

"Shhhhh, please not so loud, I woke up this morning with my head beating like crazy," Hermione moaned taking a seat at the bar. "Mira can I …?" The barmaid nodded, smiling and placed a caramel milkshake in front of her. She sighed in pleasure as she sucked up the milky substance.

"Do you really not remember what you did?" Lucy asked, taking to care to not come too near or speak to loud.

"Remember what?" Hermione asked, still a little dazed but feeling a little better now she had something in her stomach.

"Defeating the Demon that was possessing Jellal," Lucy told her, looking at the girl with a tinge of disbelief.

"I did?" Hermione replied utterly bewildered, blinking owlishly. The tilting her head a little "Oh yeah, how long ago was that?"

"WEEKS AGO!" the guild roared in unison again.

"Shhhhhhh, please." Hermione requested, head in her palms. "My eardrums are already ringing, don't make them burst. Trances take a lot out of me."

"Wait a minute," Lucy stepped forward tilting Hermione head up and gazing into her eyes. This time they weren't grey, as they had been at the tower but were a pretty whiskey colour. "Oh my god! You're one of the hands of fate!" Hermione's reaction to having another title heaped into her was to sigh and rub her forehead.

"Huh?" the Natsu responded, cocking his head to the side, rather like a spaniel.

"A hand of fate, their like vessels for the desires of a particular pantheon of Spirits, my gran was the hand of the silver keys, occasionally she used to get summoned across the country to do something for them, like dig up one of the keys. Course she tried to use that excuse to get out of visits…" She remembered a little grumpily. Lucy focused back on the miserable duchess. "So what kind of pantheon do you think you're tied to?" Lucy was genuinely curious.

Hermione considered the question and came to quite a depressing answer, "The only regular communication with spirits I've had is with the dead." She explained uncomfortably.

"Well, Miss Granger, how lovely to see you, will you be staying for the festival?" The master says, from the balcony of his office.

"Master Makarov," Hermione says, trying to get to her feet, only for her swimming head to send her to the ground.

"Whoa there, if you really were hosting the spirits of the dead, you really shouldn't be up and about your grace." Lucy says, catching and helping her back onto her bar stool. "It used to take my gran close to month to recover from her, ugh, time as a host."

"I've never exhausted myself this badly, it's actually quite embarrassing," Hermione explained sheepishly. "And it's Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"Of course," Lucy said smiling welcomingly, she knew what it was like to hate a title foisted upon you – she never asked to "Lucky Lucy", after all.

"Thank you and to answer your question Master, I wasn't planning too, who knows what trouble Gildarts might get into whilst I'm away," she shuddered at the mere idea.

"Aw come on, you can't skip out on the Harvest festival, plus if you go, I'll be the only newbie here and that's no fun." Lucy wheedled. Then growing more serious, "Anyway, you really shouldn't be travelling in this state, your magic must have taken quite a beating if you slept for 2 weeks, a fun time at a festival will do you some good."

"I suppose…" Hermione considered, she'd heard of Magnolia's Harvest festival of course, who hadn't? And the Fantasia parade sounded incredible. "All right, it's not like I'll be of any use for a while, I'll stay!" Hermione laughed when her guild cheered, she really should spend more time with them, she always felt much better when she did; she'd gotten over the worst of her enochlophobia after all.

"Hey, have you guys seen Ronnie recently?" Warren Rocko asked. "I haven't seen him since I went on that courier mission last month."

"Well the weathers been pretty normal recently, maybe he's out on another job. He's pretty strong, when he's in control of his powers that is," Nad Lasaro replied with a laugh, various others joining in as they recounted some of the guilds favourite memories of Fairy Tail's storm dragon slayer.

Hermione frowned at the familiarity of the name. It couldn't be could it? She'd of heard of him before, if it was him – very few had such a distinctly western name. And anyway she'd represented most of Fairy Tail's most prominent members at some point over the years it would be unlikely that it would be him. As Hermione thoughts turned to her friends, images of her now grown friends came to mind. They'd look around 16 now, maybe even 17. Of course it wasn't certain, Hremione knew she should have aged much more than she'd actually done in her 5 year stay in Fiore, as it was she looked to be around 14. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a prod to her side.

"Hmm, Sorry what? I was just thinking my old friends would have loved this place." Hermione said with a smile. "Anyway, do you know of any flats I can rent for the next couple of weeks, I'm currently living out of my trunk so having a proper place to stay would be great."

"Oh I'd love to go flat hunting with you, there's this great agency just down the road from my place, they helped me track down my apartment – even if my landlady's a devil it's pretty amazing considering the price." Lucy replied animatedly.

"Don't worry about the price I earn plenty," Hermione answered with a carefree giggle.

"I suppose travelling as much as you do means your jobs are pretty well paying then," Lucy chatted.

"It's not the jobs that I get most of my wages from," Hermione mention hesitantly. She smiles a small smile and then points to the brawling mages. "Every time someone in the guild damages something, we have lawsuits filed against us. I'm paid to stop the lawsuits before they reach the courts and represent any member who gets into trouble in a court of law, every time one of the dolts destroys something I get paid a lot of money out the guild budget."

"You don't say," Lucy says sweat dropping, "You must rake in a lot of money. I've lost count how many times my teams caused large scale property damage. Sometimes it's hard to make that month's rent." Her sigh is tried, but with an edge of fondness to it. Then Lucy's eyes go wide with realisation. "Oh my god, the guild employs people for that?" grabbing a hold of Hermione's shoulders.

"Ugh yeah? Do you have a law degree?" Hermione asked, she was the daughter of the wealthy Heartifilia Kozan so she probably had one degree or another.

"No, mine's in accounting and investment managing, do think they'd be willing to employ me from time to time?" Lucy asks dramatically, forehead to forehead with the Duchess.

"Sure, Master would probably fall over himself if you were willing to try to balance the guilds check books." Hermione stammered, slightly scared.

"Oh my god, if I had a steady income I wouldn't have to scramble for rent money! I might even be able to invest." There was a worshipful element to her tone when she uttered the word 'invest'.

"Seriously, you're getting excited about investing?" Cana yells, having overheard the conversation.

"Investing is so much fun," Lucy enthused, seeing as she wasn't winning Cana (or any of the other listeners) over with her arguments she came up with an analogy. "It's like gambling except you're more likely to win and you're allowed to use maths."

"ohhhhhhh," The listeners exclaimed, posing with their hands on their chins.

"How on earth am in a guild filled with such uneducated morons," Lucy says and despite the snooty tone there's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

"Sorry their princess didn't mean to insult your delicate sensibilities," Max Alors jokes right back.

Lucy, very maturely stuck out her tongue in response to their antics. Hermione laughed freely at their silliness, her eyes crinkled in an urchins grin. Lucy stood up and caught a hold of her hand.

"So do you think you're good enough to go now?" Lucy asked hopefully (call it a holdover from her past life as an heiress, but shopping was still great fun, when she had the funds of course).

"What now?" Hermione replied surprised.

"Of course, the estate managers will have opened by now and you need a place to stay in, of course if you can't move in tonight you can always stay at mine?" Lucy volunteered, she genuinely liked this girl and if there was even a chance the guild might gain a sane (and permeant member) she was going to put as much effort as she could.

"I suppose," Hermione was somewhat bewildered by the blonde's immediate acceptance but more than willing to go along with it.

"Great, see you guys later!" Lucy said smiling sun.

Ron was sat on the hard bench outside his shared flat waiting for his Flatmate to finally leave so they could head to the guild and pick a job. This month's rent was due and they were short a couple thousand Jewels, Ron liked their flat so no matter how good at shagging her current "partner" was if Cana didn't exit the next 10 minutes Ron was going to pull the "mommy what you doing" act.

Thankfully, for Cana's reputation and any further hook ups she wanted to have with this guy (or it might have been a woman, Ron wasn't entirely sure) Cana exited the flat a few moments later, dressed in her customary bikini top and trousers, her hair only a little tousled.

"Took you long enough," Ron huffed hopping off the bench and floating in the air a few metres off the ground.

"Just because you're still 12 doesn't mean that I-"Cana stopped herself and looked long and hard at her best friend.

"What? I got something in my hair?" Ron asked, running his fingers through his orange locks.

"I think you might have grown…" Cana said gobsmacked. Ron fell to the floor with a great crash, then quickly stood up and went to back with his flatmate. He was shocked to realise that he was now almost equal to Cana in height.

"I've grown? By the gods I've grown!" Ron yelled in triumph, performing various flips and swoops in his joy.

"Well we can't call you Fairy Tail's Peter Pan anymore that's for sure!" Canna cried with a laugh, "Hey maybe you can fit your title now, oh great Storm lord!"

"No kidding!" He shouted with glee. "Wahooo!" he soared into the sky drawing a few very surprised glances from the civilians nearby.

"To the guild we must celebrate!" Cana yells, eyes glowing with mischief.

"Yeah we need to –" Ron whirls around and stares at Cana harshly. "Rent first." He say with a note of finality. "You are not getting out of doing a job just so you can drink with Macao."

"What! Why would I want to drink with that guy, I mean come on!" Cana sputtered as they walked to the guild. "Oi, can't we celebrate a little bit, please!"

"I can't believe I'm the sensible one in this scenario, was this what Hermione felt like?" Ron muttered to himself, ignoring Cana's whining.

"Ronnnnnn!"

When Ron came back to guild after his third day away, his attention was immediately drawn to the cloud of brown hair that sat at the bar. It was a left over instinct from his years traveling the eastern continent searching for his best friends. His entrance drew the attention of the achingly familiar stranger and Ron felt his heart leap. Her eyes were a little brighter and features a little more delicate but it was her. It was Hermione.

"Ron?" the question was said so quietly that Ron struggled to hear it but the confirmation was all he needed. He ran faster than he thought he'd ever done before, colliding with her and wrapping his arms around her tightly, as if he didn't squeeze hard enough she'd disappear like a mirage. Hermione obviously felt the same, and whilst she was distinctly weaker in terms of strength Ron felt love and affection roll through him as she hugged him as tightly as she was able. Around them the guild was in shock, but they ignore them in favour of conforming that the person they held was who they thought it was. The also ignored the pang of sadness that set in when they realised neither of the pair had seen the last member of their trio. Ron cleared his thoughts of such emotions and with great joy explained to their gobsmacked guild mates how they knew one another and promptly shocked one another when they realised that they'd been member of the same guild for 3 years, briefly shared a teacher and at one point nearly missed each other entirely.

Hermione of course beat his head into the tables when she realised why she hadn't recognised his name in any of the paperwork she'd received, and the others did confirm he was very powerful so there was no way she'd have not defended him at some point.

"You call that chicken scratch hand writing?" She yelled with no heat, causing raucous to break out. His immediate rebuttal of:

"The hell are you going by Aurora for? Your name's Hermione!" Whilst the reasoning behind these distinctions were less funny, they still laughed. They shared their tales and, in private of course, cried for the trauma's they'd both sustained and reforged the bond they'd created after a certain incident with a troll (with a little help from Hermione's soul magic).


	12. Battle of Fairy Tail

Battle of Fairy Tail

"Hah, you lost now you got join the pageant!" Ron roared with laughter as Hermione chased him around with her staff.

"Come back here you cheating little twit, I know you swapped the cards, I was counting them!"

"Prove it!"

"Ughuh!" Hermione let out a strangled yell and pursued him in earnest.

"Pipe down you brats!" Canna yelled, when their rough housing nearly knocked over her barrel of booze.

"Yeah, aren't you getting a little old for this kind of crap, Peter Pan?" Gray snickered. Ron's unofficial nickname had become recognised the week before after his interviewer from Sorcerer's weekly overheard the nickname and took something of a shine to it.

"Don't compare me to that creep!" Ron yelled at them, momentarily abandoning the cat and mouse chase.

"Yeah Ron's nothing like him!" Romeo howled, he'd had the misfortune of listening to the version from Ron and Hermione's island and harboured a great fear of the Neverland tales ever since.

"You know I blame you for the fact his rooms like a sauna now, he absolutely refuses to open his windows." Macao told the brunette girl sourly. Hermione had the decency to blush, she just meant to explain to Romeo why Ron didn't like being compared to the boy. She hadn't meant to create a boogie man (or boy) for the kid.

Hermione and Ron had found that after reuniting they'd aged nearly a year, making them appear to 15 of so. Unfortunately, Ron's growth spurt age hadn't been hit yet, to say he was a little bitter about it was an understatement. Whilst distracted, Hermione managed to land a blow across his head with her staff.

"Bloody hell! What was that for!" Ron yelped.

"For making me join a bloody beauty pageant." Hermione told him completely unrepentant, taking a delicate sip of her tea.

"Oh yeah," He said gloatingly, he was rather found of that prize. Then he frowned and looked at her again. "Where the hell did you get a tea cup?"

"Where would I get a tea cup Ron?"

"You know that's not a reply right?"

"Is it now?"

"Seriously, don't try to work your Dumbledore twinkle on me that only works on the morons that worship the ground you walk on." Hermione's response to his critique is to slam her staff back across his head again.

"You really need you to teach me how to do that?" Cana mused. It would useful in irritating her flat mate if nothing else.

"Sorry, trade secret." Hermione replied mysteriously.

"Do I really have to do this?" Hermione whined as Cana shoved her backstage.

"Look all you've got to do is put your express armour on, wave your hands a little and bam you're done." Cana told the teenager carelessly.

"But, but, but," Hermione stuttered and then her number rang over the sound system.

"Go on then." Now Hermione shoved onto the wings and from there she was shoved onto the stage.

"-majesty Duchess Aurora!" Max, the irritating sand mage, who seemed incapable of looking most women in the eye and instead looked at their boobs.

Hermione waved awkwardly at the wild crowd, made up almost exclusively of leering men. Oh dear.

"Uh-uh-hu, he-he-hello I'm, I'm" Hermione stammered horribly, though instead of calming down the crowd it sent them into a roaring pandemic of nose bleeds and "CUTE!" All I have to do is change and then I can get off stage, Hermione swore to herself.

"Battle change: Express." With the transformation complete Hermione stood stock still for a few seconds before bolting off stage and releasing the battle form. "There I did it, now can I please-" Hermione froze when she realised how silent back stage had gone. None of the girls were we're talking and it certainly wasn't in respect for Lucy performance.

Hermione turned around and had a few seconds before she was turned into stone.

"God I'm so glad I picked that penalty," Ron giggled helplessly. Hermione at a pageant was absolutely hilariously awkward, Ron swore to keep the pictures for the rest of eternity. Even if it was for no other reason than to relive the memory the blurry image created.

"You know, that was kind of mean," Gray told him, sitting absolutely naked at their table.

"Clothes stripper," Natsu told him spitefully causing Gray to try to kick him (still butt naked). Both stopped when Evergreen appeared on stage, disrupting Lucy's stage time.

"Evergreen?" Gray said, bewildered.

"She's returned?" Elfman asked out loud, taking a step back.

Nearby, Master Makarov's eyes had gone wide with shock and unease.

"Hey, don't get in my way! My rent is riding on this!" Lucy growled. She was always very serious about rent money opportunities since they were so scare. Lucy still had to wait another week before she could legally, clean up Fairy Tail's cheque books. Lucy was almost certain that the council was being difficult on purpose, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe they were trying to make Fairy Tail to go under through bankruptcy?

Gray jumped to his feet when realisation hit. "Lucy, don't look in her eyes!"

"Huh?" Lucy replied as Evergreens slid her glasses off her face.

"What with this kid?" Evergreen cast the spell and instantly Lucy was turned into stone. Gasps filled the hall and a clued in Max hurried he audience out, leaving Fairy Tail's beer hall empty, save its members.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron roared, standing on the table top. "Where's Hermione!"

"My how strange, the pipsqueak's grown," Evergreen told the red head insultingly, her sneer hiding behind her fan.

"Where is Hermione?" Ron said advancing forward.

"Uh uh ah," Evergreen tittered, finger wagging threateningly. A crack appeared in the Lucy's skirt. "A festival like this requires entertainment does it not?" As she said this the curtain raised revealing the Miss Fairy Tail contestants, each petrified and made of stone.

The remaining members of Fairy Tail froze in horror and Ron… Ron let out an anguished roar when his eyes came across the frightened form of Hermione. In his mind, their second year was running through his head, as was the thought of losing his best friend just after finding her again.

Outside a terrible storm began to form, wind began to rattle the windows and the light dimmed as dark clouds formed rapidly. All of the Magnolain natives took the omen for what it was and immediately headed to the train station, trying to evacuate. This kind of Storm had only happened once, when little Lisanna Struass had died when her team (Ron Weasley, and her siblings) had been on a job. Like the siblings Ron had felt responsible for her death and the ensuing storm had flooded the canals and would have drowned the city if Master Makarov hadn't triggered the Gildarts protocol. Afterwards, Ron had been sent to be trained by Gildarts for a week in order to ensure nothing like this happened again but a great deal of damage had been done. It had taken the magnolain builder close to a month for the streets to be drained and city drained.

Evergreen felt a brief shudder of fear rack through her body when she felt his magic swell but steeled herself. Laxus had foreseen this and she would not fail him by showing fear.

Lighting crackled inside the room and on the stage Laxus appeared.

"Hey, Fairy Fails. Weathers pretty nasty out there, be a shame if someone got hurt." He tells them maliciously.

"Ron," Makarov called, turning to face the boy. Ron seeing the look breathed in a few gulps of air and reigned it in, a few tense moments passed and the storm abated.

"Release her." Ron snarled with murder in his eyes.

"Aww, but where's the fun in that Weasley." Bixlow shouted from his perch upon the balcony.

"The Raijin squad, Laxus's personal guards." Macao whispered.

"Laxus, stop this foolishness at once." Makarov shouted at his grandson, fear pooling in his gullet. There was no way this could go well.

"But the festivals only just begun, let's play gramps!" Laxus said grinning dementedly.

"Release them now." Ron growled again, his eyes shadowed.

"I wonder how many of them will survive this Fantasia." Laxus said, almost casual in tone, slouching on Lucy's petrified form. Fairy Tail felt ill looking at them. "We're playing a game today. If you violate the rules, I'll be forced to break my… bargaining chips, one by one." Outside a rumble of thunder shook the sky.

Ron was surging forward fist raised to attack, but when he was metres from the stage, a cage of glyphs formed around him. They glowed an angry red every time Ron's fist beat down upon the 'bars', causing Laxus to laugh. Outside the skies cleared up immediately and instead of comforting them, everyone in Fairy Tail felt their stomachs drop and a few heaved. Ron let out another rumble and lightning physically surged around his skin, in great looping arcs.

"Now Weasel, if you go and kill everyone, the game wouldn't work very well. Really we're doing this for their own good." Laxus told his cruelly, his gaze not leaving Ron's increasingly frenzied eyes. Then he turned back to his audience.

"Weasley won't be taking part with us which is sad," Bixlow called, his 'babies' echoing their agreement.

"This joke is not funny Laxus!" Makarov snarled. Beside the stage Ron roared and the wood beneath his feet began to char, as his electricity did as electricity always did – looked for the shortest path to the earth.

"You know, all that these runes do is displace Weasley's magic, somewhere in Fiore…" Laxus did not need to finish his statement. Makarov's fists curled in on themselves and his eyes closed. He took a few steps forward and with great sorrow cast a sleeping spell on the boy. Immediately he fell to the floor and the pulsating magic stopped. The skies, which had been changing so rapidly it was like it was blinking, smoothed out into flawless blue skies and autumn warmth.

"The rules of the game are simple," Laxus continued smug arrogance rolling over his form. "The last one standing is the winner of the Battle of Fairy Tail."

"Fine by me, easy to understand," Natsu called, interrupting the dead silence that had fallen on the guild. Fire leapt around his fist. "I'm all fired up."

"That spirit of yours is exactly what I want." Laxus smirked. Natsu ran at Laxus causing him to continue. "But your lack of skill still annoys me." With a careless flick of finger, Natsu was out cold, a few residual sparks of electricity rolling over him.

"If you wish to free the girls, all you must do is defeat us all," Evergreen said, her fan shut together with an audible snap.

"There's only 4 of us and like a hundred of you, right?" Bixlow laughed.

"Three hours are all you get. Beyond that and they'll be reduced to dust." Evergreen continued.

"The battle field is all of Magnolia, if you manage to spot us the battle begins." Laxus said evenly.

"Laxus!" Rage colours Makarov's words and he grows to huge size, his titian magic stirred.

"Cool your head down gramps, this is a festival. Let's have some fun!" Laxus laughs as he teleports away with another bolt of lightning, causing the audience's eyes squeeze shut at the blinding light.

Once the light faded, the crowd grumbled and rumbled until Elfman yells out "tch, we've got to save nee-chan and the rest!" With that the hall emptied itself as they all raced off to fight the Raijin squad and Laxus.

The hours wore on and the Fairy Tail members were whittled down until only Gajeel and Natsu were left, though they were trapped due to the over 80 specification in Frieds rules.

Hermione began to grow more and more desperate, until something clicked in her mind. If Hermione had been capable of smacking her forehead she would have. Settling her mind and ignoring the protests of her body Hermione began to push her soul outward. The formulation of her astral magic caused a faint golden glow to form around her and with one final heave she stumbled out of her stone encased body to find Redfox and Natsu screaming over Ezra's statue form and Ron out cold on the floor.

"Master?" Hermione asked, a little thrown. Whilst focusing on attaining her astral body, without the help of her usual meditation techniques she had completely missed the conversation that had taken place.

"Hermione!" Natsu yelled, just as Ezra's shell cracked entirely.

"Hot." Ezra remarked, then her eyes narrowed and her foot slammed into Natsu's face (the likely culprit) accidentally taking Gajeel with him.

"Thank god," Hermione whispered, floating closer.

"But how, the chick was turned into stone?" Gajeel asked staggering to his feet. The fairy Queen could pack a punch for sure.

"I don't really know about that, perhaps it was because of my right eye?" Ezra replied, directing her answer at both the master and Hermione.

"Of course, the artificial eye must have diminished the effect of the magic." Hermione realized.

"Ezra do you know what's going on?" Happy asked floating closely.

"Is anyone going to ask the floating gold girl how she go out?" Gajeel asked, eyes bulging.

"Oh, my apologies, they're a little more accustomed to my astral form and you're still new here." Hermione considered. "I use soul magic and this is the manifestation of my soul." Behind her Natsu and Ezra nodded in agreement.

"You look like you took a bath in an ash pit." Gajeel noticed. Her eyes still glowed gold as did the butterflies that flapped lazily around her, but her dress, hair and skin where a blend of greys, black and whites.

"Emotional trauma always leaves scars on the soul," Hermione replied tightly. She hated that her form showed those scars so visibly, it was easy to hide her leg or at least be proud of her creation. There was no positives to her weakened astral soul.

Seeing that he'd hit a sour spot, Gajeel dropped the subject though he was still very curious; wasn't the lawyer some kind duchess? Why would a noble like her have emotional trauma so bad that it scarred her very soul.

"Go! It is time to strike back!" Makarov cried, turning around and running back to the entrance that mocked both fairy Tail's master and the dragon slayers.

"Three player remaining? Fascinating, the script must not consider me as a contestant," Hermione observed, eyes flickering over the text that shone above their heads. "They're right of course, in this form I can do little more than influence. How likely are they to know he's awake?"

"Very, Freid has set rune traps all over the city, the moment Ron triggers it they will know and if the girls are still hostages…" Makarov's head shook at the thought. Each girl was a pillar of the Fairy Tail community losing them could very well destroy the very fabric of the guild.

Hermione nodded solemnly in response but turned her gaze back to Ron.

"You two dating?" Gajeel asked gruffly as Ezra ran through the streets searching for the Raijin squad.

Hermione startled at the question and then laughed. "No, Ron and I aren't dating, we're both from the same island, we were best friends at our school and we've been searching for each other for a while." Hermione explained, she smiled fondly at the now snoring boy.

"Wait your like semi-immortal, like Weasley?" Gajeel replied, a little surprised.

"Yes, I'm not supposed to look like I'm 12," Hermione said frowning at her pre-pubescent body.

"How old are you then?" Gajeel asked, genuinely curious.

"Well it's been 5 years or so now so I'd be around 17. It's kind of hard to keep track of time here, since my internal clock is still stuck on my… islands, time parameters." Hermione replied instantly, causing their (Natsu was also listening in) jaws to drop.

"Why is that so surprising?" wisely the boys didn't answer.

Hours pass and the girls are eventually freed, though the threat of Laxus remained. With the help of recently freed Levy, the most obvious of the runes were disabled and Ron was woken up – of course immediately tried to run out of the guild and (attempt) to pummel the Raijin squad to a pulp. A combination of Gajeel, Natsu and the master let them keep Ron still long enough for Hermione to talk some sense into him. With the sense drilled, unhappily, into his head Ron did not go rushing off to fight the traitors head on, but ran with Ezra to help destroy the thunder palace. Needless say, he was rather pissed to find that Natsu and Gajeel had beaten him to the punch (or fist) when it came to fighting Laxus. Fear of increased property damage convinced the master to restrain Ron once again and let the other Dragon slayers fight it out much to Ron's displeasure. He was even further aggravated when he found out what had been Laxus motivation and vowed to refer to him as the "dumbass" for the rest of his natural life.

Ron wasn't as forgiving of the Raijin squad as the others had been, making it very clear that they had a long time to go before he handed over his forgives or his trust. There was silver lining to the events though. Since Ron was arguably the fastest mage after Jet it was him who was sent to collect the Master's new heart medication regime for Porlyusica.

"Hello?" Ron called as he landed in the clearing with a distinctive thump.

"Dam brats, always disturbing my peace," the grumpy pink haired woman said the door open, gesturing inside. Ron's nose wrinkled as the scent of bubbling chemicals wafted up his nose, he couldn't for life understand how anyone could willing ingest something that smelt like that.

"Mira sent me to pick up Master's medication," Ron explained stepping into the hollow tree room.

"Hah, what did you do to deserve that," Porlyusica sneered, still bustling around her experiment.

"I accidentally flooded Ezra's favourite bakery during the battle." Ron told her, dead panning. His explanation caused him to snort and point over her shoulder.

"Medication's in the cupboard over there with the blue label." Ron nodded and went were instructed. The old and quite rickety cupboard squeaked as he opened it, what must have been century old dust disturbed from its resting place. Ron's curiosity peaked when a faded photograph fell with the dust and then his heart thudded to a stop when he saw the face in the lower half of the picture.

The boy was a very pretty child with wide green eyes, and hair that refused to be tamed. It was undeniably Harry though - much like Ron's features, Harry's had altered a little upon arrival in Fiore. He must have stood there like a fool for a long time because Porlyusica came storming over grumbling about mindless and stupid humans until she saw what was clutched in his fist. Her eyes turned hard and a fury working its way through her chest until Ron uttered Harry's name in tone of wonder, awe and hope.

Porlyusica floundered. Without her anger she didn't know how to proceed so she stopped and waited for… for what even she wasn't sure.

"Who's, this is, I mean it was, I know who but it's just, when?" Ron's words came out as a jumbled mess that would not have been understandable to anyone who wasn't fluent in 'stutter'. It was perhaps a blessing and a curse that Porlyusica was gifted at translating this ancient language 'stutter'.

"Dr Harry Potter of Haven's emergency ward." Porlyusica spoke. Ron still did not move, just stood there starring at the photo for a few minutes before speaking:

"When was this taken?" Ron asked, eyes pleading.

"Nearly 50 years ago," Porlyusica had considered lying but she was under the impression that any dishonesty on her part would have been ended badly for her.

"He… Fifty years ago? God, no wonder we couldn't find him-"Ron spoke breathless a smile forming in the corners of his lips.

"He's dead," Porlyusica interrupted flatly, causing the hope ballooning in his chest to deflate. "He was murdered during the fall of Haven and an earthquake destroyed his tomb."

Ron shook his head, not believing it. If Harry had been dead he would have felt it, just like he'd felt Hermione almost die and Hermione would have certainly felt it since she used her strings of fate to check in on everybody.

"How do you know him, very few could actually name him, they just called him the Harbinger." Porlyusica demanded.

"He was, is from my island, we're best friends, went to school together." Ron explained, eyes still cataloguing every detail the photo in his hands offered.

"Not possibly, he died before you were born," Porlyusica snapped coldly.

"When we left our island, it was an accident, it caused us to go to weird places and times, Hermione landed in Fiore about 6 years after me I think." Ron replied, ignoring the frosty tone. Porlyusica stilled at this explanation but did not disbelieve him either. The idea that Harry's curse was associated with accidental time travel was not that farfetched. Regardless of this however, Harry was dead, she'd placed him in his tomb herself and until the earthquake had levelled the region and added impassable mountains and a dense abysses, she visited it yearly.

"He's not dead." Ron argued starring defiantly into Porlyusica's eyes (which was pretty odd, very few people were able to sustain eye contact with her).

"Yes he is, I sealed his tomb and since I am the doctor not you, I would know." If Porlyusica had been cold before she was glacial now.

"Hermione knows he's alive, her strings have told her so, where is his tomb." Ron was getting more agitated and more confrontational, though mercifully, still in control of his powers.

Porlyusica debated answering, Harry was dead and she knew that. She's seen the poison work its way through his system and cut off all life. Ron, however was convinced to the contrary, she smiled bitterly and tugged a thin book out from her bookshelf.

"This is a map, follow it and you'll find the region his tomb was built in, but an earthquake destroyed most of the orientating features, hell a new mountain range was formed. Go knock yourself out and never come back to my house again." She spat, shoving the bottle that had started the whole thing into his hand and propelling him out.

When the door slammed shut and the winds stopped howling, Porlyusica let out a shaky breath and fresh tears broke past her dams.

Ron ran with a mixture of emotions tumbling around in his stomach, hope and fear battling it out at the expense of his health. Hermione was sure Harry was still alive but Porlyusica's dead eyes told another story. Regardless, Hermione had to know and they had to go there, at the very least to find Harry's tomb.

As he crashed through the guild hall entrance, Ron hastily shoved the bottle into Mira's arms and followed the scent of parchment and ink until Hermione's, now sleek, curls came into view. "Hermione!" he called, zipping forward. Hermione's head shot up in surprise, her conversation with Lucy and Levy fully interrupted.

"Ron? What on earth?" Hermione said, mildly irritated. Lucy and Levy were possibly the best source of knowledge on old Fiorian traditions that influenced the nobility that she'd ever come across, since Lucy had experienced the practices first and Levy had extensive knowledge of the esoteric practices from her studies. Ron didn't really trust himself to explain it properly so just shoved the map book and picture into her hands. Hermione startled at the action until she saw what was in, or who was in, the picture. Tears and determination welled in her eyes and she spoke in a soft tone. "Lucy, it looks like I won't be travelling on the collaborative mission with you."

"What why? Wait, who's that?" Lucy asked, leaning across the table and then smiling when she saw the adorable child dressed up as a doctor.

"It's Harry." Ron tells her shocking Lucy.

"Hang on, Harry as in best friend from Avalon, small island that you guys were accidentally flung from that resulted in an aging curse Harry, or Harry as in an adorable nephew that you've never mentioned before.

"Harry, as in Harry Potter, our best friend." Hermione raised her hands and snapped her finger. Somehow the little sound seemed to silence the whole courtyard and everyone saw the golden string that came into sudden existence stretching far into the distance.

"I'll get the master then," Levy squeaked up, hurrying out.

"By the spirits," Lucy said wide eyed. "Are you going to go find him?"

"Yes," two thirds of the golden trio replied in unison. They were going to find him and no one was going to stop them going.


	13. Aftermath: Earth edition

Aftermath 

Percy felt a rage like no other stir up when his fourth letter was returned with a meaningless conciliatory note. His brother and his best friends had been missing for nearly 5 months and had been declared dead 2 weeks prior, after a worldwide scan attuned to the potter heir (for it was assumed where he was the others were) had turned up with a damming nothing. All that he wanted was someone to confirm where the Dementors actually where the afternoon they disappeared. No one seemed interested however, the Prophet, trash that I was, had taken to the event with disgusting glee. They were blaming everyone from the faculty, to his family and even Harry's muggle relatives, though at no point had anyone made any reference to ministries failure's; oh no, why would anyone speculate about the possibility that Dementors could have been involved? No, how could anyone consider that, Percy sneered, ripping the letter up with such ferocity that his fellow Gryffindor's, scooted backwards.

"Mr Weasley, please restrain yourself," Professor McGonagall scolded, though not with her normal rigour. Her missing trio of lions weighed heavily on her as well, so much so that another portion of her hair had gone silver.

"My apologies, Professor. I am having certain difficulties with ascertaining some information concerning my brother's disappearance." Percy replied quietly, banishing the scraps of paper wordlessly.

"Mr Weasley, this matter was investigated by law enforcement, it is not our place to be investigating these thing. That is the job of an Auror." Professor McGonagall said kindly, though it did nothing to still the hate that immediately surfaced when she issued such as an ineffective motto.

Nonetheless, Percy had a great deal of restraint, so he bit his tongue. It did, however, spark a sudden and very strange idea. "Professor, if I wanted to apply as an Auror, what steps would I have to take."

Nearby students, who'd been shamelessly eavesdropping, fell into total silence at the totally unexpected question; McGonagall, to her credit, only blinked briefly before answering. "You'd need a minimum of five newts, all above acceptable, preferably in Charms, Defence against the dark arts, Herbology and Transfiguration. It is also suggested that you have a recommendation from several professors regarding your behaviour over the years and a list of your positions of responsibility."

Percy nodded and said no more, returning to his breakfast. With a plan in mind, Percy began to assemble a study plan for which to attain his new goals.

"He's back again." One of his co-workers, Savage, Moody's mind supplied, remarked sipping another large cup of tea. Sometimes, Moody worried that some criminal would work out that the best way to break the department of magical law enforcement was to cut off all access to caffeine. Of course then other more pressing paranoia set in and he would move on, but the though still held.

"Seriously, the kid's tried to retake the test about 20 times now, when's he going to get it through his head that he just isn't suited to be an Auror. There is no way I'd set him on witnesses or a protection detail, all of Arthurs mild manners must have skipped this one by." Robards grumbled.

"One of Arthur's boy's, which one? There's so many it's hard to count." That sent a round of laughter through the office. The prodigious size of the Weasley clan was popular office joke. Moody was tempted to point out that at least Arthur could have kids, Dawlish had, predictably, married another pureblood and their attempts to have kids in recent years had been less than fruitful. However, Moody generally speaking, didn't mind Dawlish's wife. A strong woman, who in his humble opinion would have made an even better Auror than her husband had she not been bound by her family's societal dictates. A shame really.

The Weasley boy, also seemed to know the drill. When he walked into the department he took what appeared to be his customary seat and waited. Seeing as none of his co-workers were bothering to go deal with the boy and Alastor was curious, he finished his mug and he wandered out into office space again.

"What are yah after boy." Moody growled loudly. Inside the office kitchen a few brows were raised but few paid that much attention. He was called "MAD-eye" for a reason and it wasn't just his false replacement.

Weasley looked up, stared at him for a few minutes and then replied. "Applying as an Auror sir, I've passed muggle concealment, stealth and tracking," he said as way of an explanation.

"But not the aptitude test?" Moody asked curiously, letting his magical eye swivel over the boy and masked his shock that such a limp like person could pass the gruelling stealth and tracking exam. Weasly frowned at his question but did not deny it. "Why?"

"My brother, he, they declared him dead last January. No one will answer my question because apparently investigation is a job for journalists and Aurors. Since the prophet speculated last week if it was my parent's choice to have my sister that led to my brother's disappearance. A career in journalism isn't really an option." The words were said so stoically Moody wondered if the boy had been doused with Veritaserum.

"Ah," Moody replied succinctly. Moody the stamped off, his peg leg, stabbing into carpet.

Moody marched through the corridors and into Scrigmore's office. "Hire Weasly," he told his boss simply. Rufus blinked before shoving his glasses off his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What, Moody?" Scrimgeour almost whined – it was obviously nearing the budget date, considering how much paperwork towered over his desk.

"I want you to hire someone." Moody demanded.

"Don't you already have a student, the metamorphous girl?" Scrimgeour peddled, pulling on his metaphorical politician cap.

"Not an Auror, someone else. A paperwork boy, a bureaucrat, whatever. Hire him."

"You hate bureaucrat's." It was a simply fact, well known in the Ministry, that Moody hated the Ministry. Or at least he hated the upper management.

"This one might actually be useful. Have him file the paperwork, organize the office, all that kind of indoor investigative crap. He'll be good at that. I heard Arthur talking about how he got nine newts the otherday. He's more than qualified." Moody continued.

"Arthur as in Weasley? Are we talking about Percy Weasley?" Rufus asked, still a little confused by Moody's sudden entrance.

"Yes, who else would I be talking about, the other ones haven't graduated, one's gone missing and the oldest ones are Dragon Tamer's and Curse breakers!" Moody sneered. "I'm told he's been refreshing insistent.

"If by refreshing you mean bullheadedly irritating." Scrimgeour growled grumpily. He reached into one of his lower drawers and dragged out a huge file of parchment. "These are all letters from him in the past 7 months demanding information, despite the fact he knows we cannot give it to him!"

"And you're saying you don't want someone like that terrorizing people in the Budget meeting?" Moody asked, raising a scarred brow. The realisation seemed to freeze Scrimgeour in his seat, his jaw slack and eyes bulging. Moody snorted and then stumped back out the head Auror's office.

Percy pulled off his robe and other wizarding apparel, then stuffed it into his bag. Once done, he pulled on one the jumpers gifted to him by Dr Violet Granger after she'd seen his collection of jumpers. According to her, all his 'muggle' jumpers were a minimum of 40 years out of date and as such were an affront to her eyes. Percy still found it a little amusing that Hermione Granger's mother could be affronted by poor fashion. Once done he exited the ministry and headed for the nearest tube station. When the Grangers had heard - the Granger were kept in the loop by the Weasley clan – that Percy was job hunting in London, they had immediately volunteered their spare room (not Hermione's room mind you) for him to use in the interim. Percy had accepted for two reasons; the first was the location, it was a scant half an hour away without appartation and the second reason was that they agreed to tutor him in the realities of the muggle world so he could pass particular section of the Stealth course. Percy still found it very annoying to find that his Newt in Muggle-studies was utterly useless since the syllabus was even more out of date than his clothes.

The Granger's were equally grateful for the effort that Percy put into their daughter's disappearance and the fact that he was quite willing to share information with them – something quite lacking in most wizards. Arriving at Waterloo he hopped off and walked quickly through the streets until he arrived at the Granger's modestly sized home – which by muggle London standards was huge he was told.

Pulling out the spare key he'd been given, he unlocked the door and wandered in, hanging up his recently purchased coat and his bag. Neither of the Granger's were back yet as their dentist practice was still open, so for the moment he had the house to himself. Percy was never quite sure what to do in these kind of scenarios. Growing up there had always been someone running up and down the place (both at Hogwarts and at home) and it was still rather odd to come back to silence. Nice, but odd.

Shaking his head he walked into kitchen and went about prepping a meal for this evening, carefully taking Dr Dan Granger's allergies into account. Hours passed and five o'clock moved became 7 o'clock. The meat was roasting in the oven and Percy had made himself comfortable with another Shakespeare book (which he was so sad he had missed out on as a child) when the Granger's got back in. He was alerted by their quiet murmuring and the sound of their shoes scuffing on the hardwood floors.

"Ah Percy, how'd it go today?" Dan asked smiling at the redhead. Percy shook his head which cause the dentist to frown and shake his head. "I can't understand, I think you'd make an excellent investigator."

"Invesitgator yes, patroller no and being an Auror I have to be able to do both apparently." Percy said frowning. "The lamb will be done in half an hour and the roast vegetables will be ready shortly," he said tilting his head to the kitchen where some amazing scents were wafting through.

"I have to say, I haven't eaten this well since I stayed with my sister and she cooks for a living," Violet claimed with a smile that in the back of Percy's mind, he registered as identical to her daughter's.

Percy did not reply but did nod and smile a little in lieu of a response. As he had predicted the lamb was finished cooking within half an hour and the group proceeded to have a nice meal with occasional discussions, recommendations and explanations of Muggle & Wizarding culture. It was during their discussion that an owl came pecking at their door. Both Granger's chests had seized painfully as they recalled a familiar memory, tears glinting in the corners of their eyes. Percy excused himself and left the table, opening the window and letting the small brown owl in. Strapped to his leg was a letter with the official brown seal of the Ministry. A little confused as to why the Ministry was sending letters to him, Percy unsealed the letter and sent the owl on its way. Its presence would cause a great deal of pain for the Grangers so he felt little guilt for not offering the bird some water and food.

Percy's eyes widened as he read the letter, which went as follows:

 _Dear Mr Percy Ignatius Weasley,_

 _We of the Department of magical law enforcement are pleased to inform you that your application as the new secretary for the Auror department has been accepted. Your training will commence upon the next Monday and will take approximately two weeks before you begin the customary trial period of a month. After which you would be paid 4 galleons, 10 sickles and 2 knuts per week. Your working hours would be a minimum of 5 days a week, for 8 hours. As secretary of the department of magical law enforcement you will be expected to show adequate skills in self-defence and be willing to work overtime during times of crisis._

The letter carried on along that vein for a while longer, though Percy was still stuck on how they'd though he'd applied as a secretary for the department. And since when did the department have a secretary? The head of department and the head Auror might have one, but the department itself didn't have one.

"Everything alright Percy?" Violet asked poking her head out the kitchen. Her eyes were a little red but she seemed to have recovered from the memory so Percy showed her the letter.

"Wow! That's great news Percy, though I didn't know you'd applied for the post of secretary?" Violet said as she read through the various terms and conditions within the additional contract.

"I didn't." He told her simply. At her surprised look he explained further, "I applied to be an Auror, a police officer? They kept rejecting me but now they're offering this…"

"Well that's… odd." Dan said, having come to see what the commotion was about. "But probably a better fit for someone like you." Percy frowned at the comment.

"He's right you know, you're quite like our Hermione," Violet had to pause for a moment as she did whenever her daughter was brought up, "was. You're organised and efficient, as the secretary for the department you'd have access to all of their files, so you will be able to confirm any of your theories and help improve it."

"I suppose, I never considered that as an option." Percy replied, now seriously considering the position. Violet was absolutely right about the access to the files and his dad was always going on about how inefficient the department was in terms of paperwork. The Granger's were also right in the sense that a bureaucrat position would suit his temperament much better. Convinced by the Granger's he asked if he'd be allowed to stay with them for a few more days, as he didn't have a flat in mind.

"Nonsense, you can stay here for a while longer, you're certainly not doing any harm. How about lodging here? It'd be cheaper than paying a weekly rent and unless I'm mistaken the wizarding sector will be just as expensive as London." Violet told with a motherly smile.

"Truly, Dr Granger I do not want to impose on you-"

"Oh shush now, we can work out the monthly lodging rate and you'll need the help regardless, if I remember correctly the amount they quoted wasn't all that much." Violet interrupted firmly. For a moment Violet was distinctly like his mother. "And having an adult wizard around the house has made cleaning so much easier.

"Well, thank you Dr Granger." Percy said smiling. "If you'll excuse me I need to send a few letters."

"Of course, goodnight Percy." Dan said, waving as he went back into the kitchen.

"Good night." And with that he walked up the stairs, up into his room, sat at his desk and began to compose his letter of acceptance.

"Weasley I need that approval, why the fuck don't I have it." Auror Savage snarled as he stomped up to Percy's desk.

"You didn't complete the approval form correctly so I can't send it off Savage. Complete the form correctly and I will see the approval signed, otherwise I will ask you to stop disturbing me." Percy said, not even bothering to glance up from the paperwork he was rewriting. His impossible task of actually putting the department's case files into some semblance of order was nearing complete and that lovely sensation of accomplishment was giving him a confidence booster.

"I filled out the fucking form, now you need to get over yourself you pompous paper pusher and give me the form!" Savage roared, louder than before.

Percy looked up for a moment before answering with a bland "No." At which point, Savage drew his wand and was then promptly thrown from the small office space Percy had claimed as his own, his Newt level runes spinning in almost mocking circles. Savage groaned from his spot on the floor though no one made a move to help him up. In the year that Percy had been working in the Department of Magical Law enforcement, it had become a pretty accepted thing that you never drew your wand on him whilst he was at his desk as he sat right next to the case file system and no one cast any magic other than runes around _that_ monstrosity.

"Knock knock, can I come in?" Recently graduated Auror Nymphadora Tonks joked. Percy gave her an unimpressed glare as her reward.

"You're in fine form today Percy, love that Runic array. Simply smashing." Tonks continued her hair changing to bright bubbly pink.

"I will not date someone my brother has dated." Percy told her flatly. Tonks pouted but accepted it.

"Anyway I'm here for the files of Black, Moody want me to put together a profile on him, since I well, I knew him. See if we can catch him." Tonks explained awkwardly, her hair turning the reddish black it always did when her mother's family came up. She handed him the necessary approval forms, which Percy promptly signed and then tucked into Tonks file which had actually been on his desk already since he was entering the new recruit's information into the cabinet.

Percy nodded and plugged the name into the system's "mainframe". Percy was very pleased with his filing System and considered to be one of his most brilliant projects to date. Fred and George had helped him put it together (for a small fee), having based it on the Granger's computer "type interface" system.

He typed in convicted murderer into the crime type box, and then Sirius Orion Black into the perpetrator box. Percy scowled when a big fat X appeared afterwards. "What were the case file numbers," Percy said turning to face Tonks again.

"Uh, #467? No #464." Tonks said glancing down at her notepad.

When Percy replaced the perpetrator type and name with the case file numbers the cabinet whirled to life and familiar hum filled the space. After a minute a ping sounded and one of the cabinet drawers popped open, Case file #464 glowing red. Removing the file he then passed it to Tonks who smiled gratefully and began walking back to her desk, reading it as she went.

Then very suddenly she stopped and turned back to face Percy who had returned to his work. "Mate, I think you're files missing some stuff." Tonks told him holding the file up.

"What? My files aren't missing anything." Percy said, utterly appalled that anyone could assume that his files were "missing". His files were never "lost" just improperly filed by someone else.

"Well, all there is in this file is Black's prison transfer paperwork." Tonks said removing the single piece of parchment in the file.

"Well, that's irritating I thought I'd checked over all the files, oh well. I'll just do it now." Percy said shrugging.

"Do what?" Tonks said looking at Percy a little oddly.

"Have the obliviators send me the report of the incident that lead to Black's arrest and have the courts send over the trial manuscript." Percy told confused as to why she was shocked.

"What now? How the hell are you going to do that? Those guys are never quick, it could take you months." Tonks told him wide eyed.

"Well yes, but Mary isn't." Percy told her opening up the floo call system between his desk and the department of magical accidents and catastrophes.

"Percy is that you?" An aged witch's face appeared in the fire place, her face glowing green in the floo fire.

"Hi Patty, do you think you can join me up with Mary? Some of my files need correcting." Percy asked the witch who Tonks vaguely remembers sitting at the reception desk of the Ministry.

"Oh of course my dear, by the way I must say this new sis-tem you developed is working splendidly, I can now said those irritating top hats off to where they're supposed to be instead of having to listen to them rant for hours at a time." The witch, Patty, told Percy fussing with something out of sight.

"Not a problem Patty, I'm glad I could help." Percy told her smiling.

"Oh such a nice boy, you know my granddaughter Audrey is about your age she's working in the court rooms as a scribe, you know I bet you'd like her-"Patty twittered.

"Thank you Patty but I really need to get this sorted Auror's Tonk and Moody are waiting on it." Percy told her, thanking the stars that you couldn't see blushes in Floo fire, though considering his skin was now identical to Tonk's coat that might not be strictly true.

"Ah of course, bye bye now." Patty said winking off. Tonks was grinning and her brows wagging up and down. Percy was reminded very suddenly why she and his brother Charlie lasted so long.

"I am the only male secretary in a pool of about 59, all of whom have tried to pair me up with a niece, daughter, friend or granddaughter at some point." Percy explained still flushing Weasley red.

With that he turned back to face the floo and a few (thankfully) short moments later another, a much younger woman's face appeared. "Mary? Could I ask that you get the incident report for the night of Pettigrew's murder and Sirius Black's arrest?"

"Oh no worries, darling," The Scottish witch Mary tittered as she dug through files behind her. "Ah go it, I'm sending it down, good luck mate."

"Thank you Mary!" Percy shouted as the Floo cut off. A few minutes later an owl dumped a thin manila on the open table. Percy passed the Owl a treat inattentively and drew his hand back quickly to avoid the bird's razor sharp beak. "Don't mind Wallace, he doesn't like anyone but Mary." Percy warned Tonks when the bird flew back into the air and tried to dive bomb Tonks head.

"Here we go, the obliviators records on the witness statements, huh I see Minister Fudge wasn't that fond of paperwork either." Percy noted, duplicating the parchment with a wave of his wand and tucking it back into Black's file. "Right, last thing is to get the trial transcript, I wish I could give you more but the filing system was horrible during the war."

"No problem at all Percy," Tonks said a little bemusedly. Percy had somehow turned one of the most difficult Auror jobs – collecting and amassing information on criminals into viewable collection – into something so simple all it required was a couple of floo calls and an alphabetizing system.

"Right give me a moment," Percy wrote the request up and then sent it off, the enchanted paper plane zooming through the corrridors.

"Neat spell," Tonks remarked, watching it fly with interest.

"Thanks, Dad made it and taught me it when I joined the Ministry." Percy told her.

"Huh, hey so I meant to ask my mum said she saw you at grandma's dentist what you doing there? Last I checked the Weasley's still went to St Mugos." Tonks asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, I'm a lodger with the dentists there, Dr Violet and Dan Granger," Percy explained.

"You're staying with muggles, why?" Tonks asked, baffled. Her hair turned mint green.

"Well originally it was because I wanted to learn how to blend in with muggles and pass the stealth course's muggle aspect. Then it I just stayed because it was nice, the Grangers are kind enough to rent their spare room out to me at a price I'd never get anywhere near Whitehall and I think they like seeing me do stuff their daughter might have done." Percy told her as he waited, it was a little odd how long they were taking.

"Oh, wait, are they Granger as in the parent of the Muggleborn that went missing with Harry Potter and, uh, your brother?" Tonks winced when she realised how insensitive she was being.

"Hermione Granger was their daughter." Percy told her sadness squeezing his chest painfully. "Did you know no one told them? When they stopped getting letters from her they tried to get in touch with the school but they don't have an owl so they went to the leaky cauldron and they saw the papers." Tonks let out a horrified gasp. "It was completely unacceptable and when my dad found out he immediately invited them around to explain what had happened and you know, help. But Hermione was their only child and…" he grimaced rather than carry on explaining.

"Oh god, that's horrible." Tonks whispered, after which they fell into an uncomfortable silence as they waited. Another hour passed and Percy was getting concerned, normally Mia was pretty good about getting these kind of things done quickly, so why was she taking so long?

Percy got his answer when Mia shuffled in quietly clutch a distinctly empty folder.

"What's going on?" Percy frowned standing up and walking over to the other secretary.

"I'm sorry for taking so long Percy but, well it doesn't look like there was a trial." Mia whispered, she was very shy after all.

"Huh? Why would the right hand man of Voldemort have no trial, under court laws we could have had him give up victim names, base locations and other members under Veritaserum." Tonks yelled, hair turning a furious red. At which point she ran back to her supervising agent to inform them of what they had discovered.

Meanwhile, Percy was thinking. Someone had tried very hard to disguise the complete lack of records regarding the infamous mass murder. Either someone really didn't want him talking or there was something else even worse at work. Percy hoped it was simply a matter of accidents but considering the number of powerful politicians that were associated with he wasn't that confident with optimism.


	14. Last of the Trio

Author Note: Hi, first I want to say I don't normally writes notes, nor do I plan to make a habit of it. So I apologize that my notes won't be hilarious, or deep or particularly interesting. I just need to tell anyone reading my stories a few facts. Number 1: until about three chapters ago I had an amazing beta called tactict gloaming. However (number 2), for reasons I am not a privy to, he has not been able to help with my story recently, therefore, rather selfishly can I ask that if you notice any glaring grammar or spelling mistakes can you identify them in the review section? I often miss lots of little mistakes when i'm on a writing "surge" so to speak. And i know its a little dull but it would be really helpful.

So, uh, thank you? I'm not really sure about author not protocol but I hope you enjoy the chapter.

The last of the trio

"Hermione are you sure this is where we need to go?" Ron asked, vicious doubt taking root after they hit midmorning of their third day of travelling. They were hiking up the last portion of the mountain range and were so high up now, that the only sound Ron could really distinguish was the whistling wind and Hermione's climbing prosthetic whirling as she moved.

"Look it's the best lead we've had yet, and can you really say that he doesn't look like Harry?" Hermione said twisting round to face Ron, determination shining through her eyes.

"Hermione, I found at least 13 people who looked nearly identical to you and they weren't you, this guy died nearly 50 years ago. If it's him…" Ron felt bile rise in his throat as he considered the unthinkable.

"He's not dead." Hermione says shortly, eyes glazed as her magic surged to the surface. "He's not, he's, he's. Look he's not dead I know this. And I know its Harry that Porlusica knew, I'm not just pinning this on the whispered rumours of an angel, or the remains of a tatty photograph or even a shared name. He's here and he's alive just, just sleeping. I think."

"Hermione you told me yourself, all you can see when you look for Harry is Darkness." Ron said, making the decision to stop, clearing snow from a nearby rock and taking a seat. Hermione does not sit down, but wrings her hands a few times before addressing Ron again.

"Look the darkness is weird but Harry is there, and he is alive; his string would have disintegrated if he died. He's here in this world waiting for us to find him." Hermione looks at her feet as she confronts some of her emotions that she'd let lie since she left the castle. "I spent a lot of time running from you guys, not even realising that was what I was doing. I could have found you years ago, but I couldn't, wouldn't," she corrected herself, "face you. I felt I was too broken, not really worth it and from what I could sense from you, showed that you were, you were happy."

Ron sighed, folding his hands behind his neck and looking at the snow covered floor by his boot bound feet. In the year that they'd been reunited they'd argued about these kind of things for hours. Ron understood that what had happened to her in Aurora's castle had left scars much more damaging than his years of loneliness had been. Ron had been free enough to travel wherever the breeze took him and that freedom meant that he was able to avoid thinking of the family he'd lost. He'd chosen to forget, albeit temporarily and allow his emotions guide his decisions. Hermione had a good deal of her memories forcefully suppressed by that… thing. Some of her memories were so buried that even now, nearly half a decade after escaping she still couldn't remember. Even worse still, by digging through her memories and cataloguing the fuzzier details that she was missing, she'd evaluated her childhood from the view of an adult and the things that should have been constant, a life line as such were nowhere near certain, especially with her memory so unreliable. The mind was a delicate thing and a lot of Hermione's memories were subjective at best now.

Ron had, in some levels hung onto to the belief that his family would be there for him once they eventually made it back home. Hermione just didn't have that reliability.

"Fine," Ron said, coming to his decision. "You know where he is, but can we take a break for a while? I'm starving!"

Hermione smiled a little, relaxing her stiff stance. "You're always starving." Ron shrugged unapologetically at this statement and grabbed his food from his bag.

They'd been hiking for another 6 hours when they found the tomb that Porlyusica had marked out on the map. The map had said there was a waterfall but the only thing thy found where heaps of rocks and small gurgling stream. Apparently it was all that was left of the great Spirit waterfalls.

Hermione was close to giving up, maybe her sight was wrong? Even with their immortality, could anyone live under there? Then Ron heard it, the steady pumping of heartbeat, the only one for miles around. Ron leaped forward and started shoving the rocks aside, tapping into his draconic strength. They kept moving the rocks until eventually a hole was formed leading into a pitch black cave. Hermione's heart was beating in her throat as she tentatively stepped into the cave behind the rockslide. The darkness was so thick it was almost tangible even with the light streaming in from their newly excavated entrance. Ron joined her moments later, he's eyes adjusting to the gloom much faster than Hermione's.

Ron took a deep breath and some of his anxiety faded. "No rot," he whispered, though it still echoed around the seemingly endless cavern. Hermione nodded, her shoulders taught with tension.

 _"_ _Let me light my path with my soul, so I will it, so it be."_ Hermione cast, her hands immediately becoming wreathed in a golden glow. The light didn't stretch very far but it was better than the utter blindness she'd been facing before. Ron and Hermione turned to one another and nodded; they both began to walk deeper into the cave.

"Careful," Ron caught Hermione's foot just before she was about to step into a large pool of water. Hermione thanked him and walked on, though her steps were much more cautious than they were before.

As they rounded the bend they saw it. A body covered in glowing luminescent green wounds.

Hermione surged forward, as did Ron, both of them seeing the still, yet somehow still alive body on an alter like stone table. In the darkness neither could really distinguish any clear features but when the pushed the boys long hair aside Hermione felt the slightly raised lightning bolt scar that had made their best friend so famous on earth.

"Still think it's not him?" Hermione asked, giddy excitement raising the pitch of her voice. Ron laughed a little at her jibe but was focused on the blade marks.

"Porlyusica said that the poison was called Rippers touch, do you think it's redundant by now? It's been 50 years." Ron asked, hands itching to do something.

"It's hard to tell with artefacts like this one, some only have a limited time frame of functionality but others get more potent with age." Hermione tells him distractedly, trying to translate the runes that are carved into the side of the table. These were more recent, added after Porlyusica created the tomb. Unfortunately in the low light she couldn't distinguish which type of runes they were.

"Well we can't leave him here, why don't we take him outside?" Ron asked, but Hermione immediately shook her head.

"According to Porlyusica the water here has healing properties, we don't know what could happen if we remove him from this environment and we can't cast any spells that rely on atmospheric magic, that might disrupt it as well." Hermione said frowning, at Ron's worried look at her hands she explained further. "The only reason I can use my chant is because it relies entirely on my willpower."

"Well we can't leave him here! We can't help at all, and even I struggle to see in here." Ron growled.

"I suppose we could test out my torches, though I warn you they're still experimental." Hermione tried. Ron shrugged, it was the best idea they had yet and most of Hermione's prototypes were pretty reliable.

"These the battery operated machines you've been tinkering with for the past couple of months?" Ron questioned.

Hermione nodded and stuck her hand into the small carry bag she'd brought into the cave with her. Eventually she pulled out a small box, with a large bulbous buttons on one of the faces. She gave a satisfied hum and then pushed the button downwards, setting off a series of cogs. The cogs speed up until a loud buzzing sound filtered through causing Ron to slap his hands over his sensitive ears.

"Sorry, I'm still working on that," Hermione blushed, but eventually the light grew bright enough that she was able to see further than her hands. As her concentration faded so did the glow surrounding her hands, until eventually she was totally reliant on her torch box, though the torch box was much more effective, allowing Hermione to identify the words. "Right if I'm translating this right someone turned the poison into a fuel for a sleeping curse and waking him would be similar to waking a sleep walker."

"So bad?" Ron said, a little confused. He didn't even pretend to understand the glyphs, he had more than enough trouble with the common alphabet. He wasn't going to put much effort into learning a dead language.

"Yes, bad," Hermione rolled her eyes at the oversimplified explanation. She frowned when she noticed a secondary string of runes and snarled when she realised the implication of this small rule warning.

"Uh oh," Ron said, if Hermione showed genuine emotion when researching it never meant anything good – either he would grow even more scared of the brilliant witch or something was very, very wrong.

"See the dagger here? The one imbedded in the corner. It uses null dream magic," Hermione said incensed.

"Right, now would you mind explaining for us lesser creatures why that's so important?" Ron said grimacing.

"Null dreams keep the mind and soul in a sort of sensation isolation. Without any senses to guide it the brain shuts down. We can't remove the dagger and we can't raise him out of the curse without disturbing the poison. We'll need to work out how to jolt his senses back into place without upsetting the atmospheric magic. I'm almost certain that it's the cave that's kept his body alive for so long." Hermione swore when she became conscious of the fact that both the box and the light from outdoors was fading quickly. "I need to charge the box torch."

"Nights falling as well," Ron remarked his much better vision noting the stars that had started to become visible in the sky. Ron turned to face Hermione seriously. "Look we're both exhausted, we've been hiking for a good day and straining our eyes in this darkness. Will Harry die if we don't cure him now?"

"No, I don't think so." Hermione replied reluctantly.

"So let's go set up camp whilst we still have a little light, tomorrow we can open up the passage way a little more and set up some rag burning torches to light it better." Ron suggested. Hermione acquiesced none too graciously but did follow Ron out.

They managed to set up camp before sun set and had a fire crackling in front of them. Ron then went and strapped himself into a tree and fell asleep, whilst Hermione curled up in her hammock and considered how she could help Harry.

"I know how we can wake up Harry!" Hermione yelled as she woke up, her plan still rooted in her mind.

"Bloody hell!" Ron roared back, now hanging upside down the tree trunk, in his shock he'd jumped a good foot in the air and his coordination was never much good in the morning. Hermione stared at him for a few seconds before breaking out into delighted laughter.

"I'm glad you find it so funny Hermione," Ron growled, totally unamused. Ron called for the wind, promptly flung upwards and overshot the branch, once again hanging upside down by his ankle. Careful not to call too much of his power Ron propelled himself upwards again, though at a much slower rate until he was at a great enough height that he could untie his leg. Once untied he dropped to floor with a thump. "Warn a guy why don't you!"

Hermione laughed a little more before shaking her head and pulling out a book, specifically the book that taught her Soul magic and flipped the page until she found what she'd been looking for. "Spell of bond making," Hermione spoke up.

"Whoa, Hermione I love you really, but I am not ready to be making marriage bonds _any_ time soon." Ron said, backpedalling and falling over comically. Hermione rolled her at his behaviour.

"You know romantic bonds aren't the only type of bond, right?" Hermione told him archly, giving him the 'look'.

"Oh," was Ron's oh so intelligent reply.

"For instance strangers are capable of developing deep bonds of friendship just by a meeting of fate." Hermione lectured as she scanned through the page and reminded herself of the various complexities about forming bonds.

"So like Natsu and Lucy? Or even us, I mean the troll was pretty weird – actually most of our first year was weird as." Ron remarked, reflecting on their first year.

"Quite, but it's our bound that I want to capitalize on, all of us have faced a danger of some kind together as a result we've attained life-debts for each other. If we use this spell we can force a soul bond to manifest and no that does not mean we will all fall in love with each other romantically, in all likelihood it'll likely decrease any chance of that happening since Romantic bonds are usually formed in spite of something and a soul bond can only form if you accept _everything._ " Hermione told him, in full scholar mode.

"Ah and by everything you mean…"

"My bouts of depression and inability to open up to others, your inferiority complex and temperamental nature and Harry's near suicidal levels of selflessness and self-worth issues." Hermione observed flatly causing an uncomfortable silence to brew between them. "On the other hand, the acceptance and support of having a soul bond often goes a long way to fixing those kind of issues. And by stimulating the bond we should be able to safely shatter the null curse."

"Haven't got much of choice do we?" Ron said rubbing the back of his head, then steeling himself he nodded. "I spent nearly 10 years on my own, I know how important you guys are to me so if we can fix Harry, facing my demons isn't much by comparison is it." Ron said loosing courage a little and starring at his shoes.

Hermione smiled softly in return and stood up, crossed the clearing and hugged the dragon slayer close. Ron froze up for moment, surprised by the action but melted soon after, hugging her back. "Come on," Hermione sniffed. "We need to set up the ritual and the torches." Ron nodded, hugged her close for a few more moments before breaking the embrace and running off into the forest to collect some appropriately sized torch sticks.

Hermione also busied herself by drawing all the runes and patterns onto items they could bring into the cave. It took a good half a day to be prepared for the ritual and Hermione still felt nervous when it came down to it. There was no question that the next hours would be vital to recovering but it was going to be so hard. In the mindscape they would all see the flaws that made them up as people. Furthermore they wouldn't know if Harry would want to establish a soul bond with them until they were in the mindscape. However, seeing Harry's still body and knowing that if they'd didn't try this it was likely Harry would never recover gave her the bravery she needed to actually funnel her magic into the various circles, patterns and amplifiers she'd set up about cavern.

"Ready?" Hermione whispered holding out her hand over Harry's body, her other hand clutching his limp palm.

"Ready," Ron affirmed taking her hand, holding onto Harry with his other. Hermione took a deep breath and began to chant in a language that sounded surprisingly gaelic.

 _Fosgail ar n-inntinn agus anam,_

 _tha sinn deiseil gus èisteachd,_

 _tha sinn deiseil gus tuigsinn,_

 _Tha sinn ag iarraidh a dhol air an spioradan fhìn,_

 _taobh a-staigh aon eile,_

She repeated the chant again and again until very suddenly Ron knew the words to, so he joined in. their words began to merge together and magic seemed to permeate the very air they were breathing, every available surface glowing a blend of gold, grey and purple until green was suddenly added to the mix and Harry's voice, which Ron was sure he'd forgotten chimed in with the chant, sending his acceptance through the words. Hermione cried then and there and Ron was very close to joining her. Eventually the colours grew so great and so bright that the cave faded from view and all that was left was a maelstrom of their colours.


	15. The Mindscape and Acceptance

The Mindscape and Acceptance

Harry had never felt anything like this, warmth, affection and a fierce loyalty that could drive giants to the ground. It was if he was surrounded by nothing but happiness, his very being wreathed in hope. Then with a sudden breath he was…awake. Harry couldn't really think of any other way to describe it. He'd felt numb for so long that the shock of emotions, sensations and colours had broken whatever had trapped him. In the back of his mind the faint stinging of pain but it was easy to ignore in favour of the sight before him. It was an idealistic version of the Weasley burrow, idealistic in the sense it seemed to be missing a few things but it was the spirit of the place that mattered.

"Looks like Ron is first," a heart wrenchingly familiar voice spoke. Harry's head whipped around, heart equal parts hopeful and broken. "Hi Harry," Hermione whispered a little teary eyed. Harry tried to throw himself at her only to be separated by something imperceptible, he felt like one of those French mimes banging away at an invisible wall. Hermione shook her head, as if she'd been expecting this. "No touching until the end of it. Do you know what we're doing, Ron and I didn't know what level of awareness you had whilst you were, sleeping." She stumbled when she said 'sleeping' but Harry didn't comment on it.

"I couldn't hear you as such, but when you were chanting, I kind of…felt the words? That doesn't make much sense but I kind of understood." Harry breathed, absorbing every detail he could about the friend he hadn't seen in seven years. Hermione was taller and older than he remembered her being but not as much as he'd expected, obviously whatever had left him ageless had had similar effects on her. Her hair was longer and her figure a little more pronounced since she was wearing a corset like dress and oddly, heeled boots. It seemed a rather impractical thing for her to wear.

"No it makes perfect sense," Hermione replied grinning, though she sobered when she turned back to the house. "We need to go see Ron and… accept him. Each of us will take a turn to face our flaws and insecurities head on, and then we decide if we can accept one another." It was a harrowing thought but Harry knew he had to do this.

"Use a little bit of that Gryffindor courage, I guess?" Harry told, giving her a watery smile and then stepping along the cobbled path. Hermione nodded and scurried up alongside of him; they crossed the threshold together looking for whatever it was they were supposed to be finding. They'd walked through the kitchen, living room and up three staircases before they found him. Ron was stood in the bathroom starring at a mirror. He had bags under his eyes and thousands of broken bottles, dishes and pictures lay on the ground beneath him.

"Ron?" Hermione whispered, eyes wide with fear – not fear of him though, fear _for_ him.

"I don't appreciate anything. My family loved me and I was jealous of my siblings. I met the two greatest friends I could ever find and yet… I'm nothing compared to them. Hermione's like Bill, Fred and George, smarter than everyone and never wrong. Harry's like Ginny, Magic just comes to him and god his life sucked! What little family he had hated him and yet somehow he gets through it." Ron's is mere inches from the half empty sink. "I hate them for it. Sometimes."

Harry felt his stomach drop and his heart shudder, as if someone had stuck a knife through his back. Hermione had her hands clapped across her mouth, tears brewing in her eyes.

"God, why do they want me as a soul bound? Something out of myth and they want me? They'd be better off without me, everyone is. I just, I drag them down." Ron seemed to give up at this point.

"The hell you do!" Harry roared and this seemed to waken some vestige of anger in Ron causing him to turn around. "What did you think when you first saw me?" Harry asked, fire burning in his eyes.

"You looked like some stupid loner!" Ron yelled, not thinking.

"Yeah I did, because I was and still am mate," Harry spat. "Before I met you I never had a friend, Dudley chased them off at school and then Vernon would lock me up at home. You looked at me and decided to be my friend, not because of who I was or that I was freak but because I looked lonely." Harry told him passionately.

"Yeah well it was my fault Hermione was nearly killed by a troll! If I wasn't such a jealous little shit I would have never have called Hermione a Nightmare." Ron told them coldly, full of self-loathing.

"Oh for goodness sake Ron I forgave you for that after you levitated that club over the brutes head, and are you forgetting when you willingly drank a potion I had brewed in a school _bathroom_ because you trusted me? Do you know how much that meant, to have someone, okay a little ill-mannered at times, but so full of faith in me that he'd do that?" Hermione stood close to him and smiled big and bright in his face.

"I drowned Magnolia," He told her. "Because I failed Lisanna, it took them two months to rebuild Hermione."

"Ah that's nothing, when I was training to use my battle forms I started a tsunami, if Gildarts hadn't convinced Juvia Lockser of the deep to absorb the water, it would have taken a lot longer to recover." Hermione rebutted, giggling into her palm.

"We really don't want to get into the mishaps I made whilst I worked in the emergency ward, trust me." Harry continued it was at that point that he knew he'd accepted Ron regardless of his darker inner thoughts. Looking at Hermione he knew she shared similar sentiments.

"We. Don't. Care." They told him in unison, causing a smile to split Ron's cheeks. Their attention snapped to their wrists where a single cursive loop had formed.

As Ron reached forward the scene disintegrated and another shape began to take place. Harry vanished from sight, and everything reformed, though this time in the shape of cookie cutter house, with a perfect lawn, flower boxes filled with petunia's of various colours. The door was wide open, so taking the invitation for what it was Hermione and Ron entered.

As the entered the home they were assaulted by how unsettlingly 'perfect' it was. There were pictures in the hallway featuring people Ron vaguely recognised as the Dursley's and every inch of the house was spotless. In another room the sound of generic sitcom poured through but it was of little interest to the party of two, no what interested them was the small cupboard under the stairs, that featured a heavy bolt and lock that had no place in a suburban home and the dim light that shone from beneath the door.

With a sick feeling in her stomach, Hermione unlocked the padlock and pushed the bolt aside. There inside the cupboard, laying on a baby mattress in a filthy space, was what had to be a six year old Harry Potter, complete with taped up glasses that were too big for his face.

"Hi Harry," Hermione whispered again, repeating the words she'd greeted him when he'd 'woken up'.

"Oh, hello Hermione, you need to go away now." He told her smiling, but backing up none the less.

"And why does she need to do that?" Ron asked, squatting next to Hermione.

"Because they said if I stayed in here and never came out, no one else would get hurt." He told her with heart breaking sincerity. "I'm like the plague you know, everyone I know gets hurt, first my parents, then you and then the Haven."

"Harry…" Hermione didn't know what to do or say.

"Stuff and nonsense that is," Ron said in a playfully haughty tone. "If it wasn't for you so many more people would be gone, remember first year, how you beat Quirrel and stopped Voldemort getting the stone and becoming immortal?"

"Or in second year, when you defeated the basilisk? Ginny would be dead and Hogwarts would have probably closed down." Hermione chimed in.

"I hear you're a big shot in medicine as well, without you Hermione's treatment wouldn't have gone as nearly as well as it did." The reminders of Harry's good deeds and accomplishments stopped him from shrinking back but he still looked hesitant.

Hermione sighed quietly before speaking again. "You know, a really wise friend of ours made a promise to her friends after she tried to die for them. She made a promise to live for her friends. If you really want to help us Harry, live for us." Hermione told him soundly. She stepped back from the entrance and held the door open for him. Harry hesitated for a moment before clambering out. "Promise?"

"Promise." Harry told her, returned to his original age. Hermione nodded triumphantly and then glanced back down at her wrist where the ink had resumed its spread. It was now two complete loops that were stretching out to form the last of the continuous loop. When it stopped the scene disappeared again, though Ron had the time to notice the lightning bolt tattoo he'd gotten in honour of Harry had disappeared.

When the mindscape rightened itself Harry and Ron found themselves in a prettier, compact and more summery version of Hogwarts. Unlike the harsh Scottish highlands, the castle was a lush Eden of flora. Ivy tendril climbed the walls of small, white iron and glass gazebo and a great turret stretched into the heavens from a corner of the castle. Both Ron and Harry were utterly bewildered. Their mindscapes had both created their childhood homes and Hermione had lived in London, why would… Ron nearly kicked himself for not realising sooner.

"She can't remember," Ron whispered. Harry heard him and raised a brow at the cryptic mutter. "It's kind of a long story, which I think Hermione would prefer to tell you about herself. Regardless, Hermione lost a lot of memories of her younger years when she was here," Ron said gesturing to the castle.

"Her mindscape took the form it recognised as its own?" Harry pondered aloud, starting to understand. "It would explain why my mindscape was privet drive and not the Haven."

Ron nodded agreement as they wandered through the pristine garden until coming to halt in front of a great oak door, reminiscent of the great hall's entrance. Ron shrugged and pushed the door open, entering a surprisingly well-lit foyer. Twin grand staircases lead them up the second flight of stairs, which they followed until they came across a hallway with floor to ceiling glass windows. At the end of it, staring out was a Hermione. Except, instead of being in her physical body she was floating in her incorporeal form. Her eyes glowed an iridescent gold, as did the small butterflies that flapped gently around her but the rest of her was a dark, lifeless grey.

"Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously. Like Ron had, Hermione did not respond and continued to star out the window, one hand of the pane of glass. Then, abruptly she turned back down the corridor and started to walk further away. Harry and Ron ran to catch up with her. She walked briskly through the maze of corridors, unyielding and uncaring to Ron and Harry's calls. Eventually they found themselves deep underground in a barely lit corridor, heading towards a small, low door.

The door made Hermione pause for a few moments, she hesitated a moments, before gently pushing the door open and stooping low to enter. Harry and Ron followed suit, but were shocked to discover a thriving garden beyond the door. Ron sneezed as the pollen hit his nose, but reigned it in.

"They're graves." Hermione spoke up lifelessly, she was staring at the only empty patch of ground. She raised her hand and pointed to it. "That was supposed to be mine, for after she killed me. The other Aurora's were going help cultivate a flower there, since there wasn't going to be a body to bury. Gildarts stopped her killing me but I lost most of my leg."

Hermione spoke of this depressing summarization with such certainty that Ron and Harry felt their collective stomach heave.

"But you didn't, die that is." Ron says, uncertainty tainting his lips.

"I should of," Hermione replied, lifeless eyes staring out vacantly.

"Hey at least you weren't expelled," Harry joked. Hermione turned and starred at him blankly but Ron 'got' it and chuckled nervously. Together Harry and Ron recited those memorable words right at her:

"Now, if you don't mind I'm going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed or worse expelled!" They cackled at the memory.

"I was quite silly wasn't I," Hermione said quietly but suddenly the darkness in her eyes wasn't quiet as oppressive.

"You did have some strange priorities," Ron told her, grinning brightly at her, the sharped fang of his canine slipping over his lip in a toothy smile.

"Then again, we also thought it was good idea to jump into an unknown creepy chamber with a clearly dubious teacher, with an interest in me that bordered on the paedophilic," Harry pointed out. "Plus, if it wasn't for you, how would we know what the Slytherin common room would look like? Or, well anything, about Flamel?" Harry asked, taking a careful step forward

"Or even have passed second?" Ron continued wryly.

The reminders went a way to warming Hermione up but they weren't quite over the precipice yet.

"I'm not going to be much use it a fight you know, I won't be able to keep up, you guys are well beyond anything I can ever do. My leg-"

"Is a master piece of engineering and medical expertise I am told from several very reliable sources and if I am not mistaken the heart of one of your many battle forms." Ron argued. "You're going to give the rest of us mortals a complex at this rate!"

"Really, you built your prosthetic? That's amazing Hermione!" Harry spoke up, Harry was a medical 'expert' and he knew how hard it was to create a functioning prosthetic.

"I guess…" Hermione replied uncertainly, smiling a little.

"You guess? You're one of the most brilliant person in two worlds Hermione! If that isn't something to be pleased with I don't know what is." Ron told her with glee, he jumped upwards and floated by her shoulder. Harry back flipped and landed on a nearby grate, smiling easily.

"Come one Hermione, I want to see this Fairy Tail guild of yours, my memories of it say it's the home to some of the craziest mages out there," Harry prodded, testing the water so to speak. He'd recognised the emblem well enough to know what guild they belonged to.

"Yeah, they kind are." Hermione whispered back with a smile. She takes a hesitant step towards them and both Ron and Harry hold out their hand, waiting for her to take them.

"I'm…I'm scared." The whispered confession is enough to break the boy's hearts all over again. Clearly, they're all kind of soppy but Ron can't bring himself to care particularly much. Harry looks over at Ron, then steps off the crate and walks close to Hermione. Ron follows suit and together they hug her close. They expect to be repelled again, thankfully they aren't, though it seems to break the last vestige of Hermione's control, causing her to sob uncontrollably. The boy's eyes are similarly wet (though they'll deny it afterwards) as they hold her close and none of them pay any attention to the scenery that is fading behind them.

They wake up to find that they are once again in the dark cave standing in that conjoined circle but now Harry's hands can squeeze back – weak as his grip may be.

"Oh god, we did it. We did it!" Hermione sobs, throwing herself into Harry's arm and dragging Ron with her. Some of her tears are obviously relief but neither Harry nor Ron were stupid – occasionally a little dim-witted and suicidal reckless (what second years chased after a basilisk?) but not stupid. They know that part of the tears are left from the lingering sensation of that in-between place. Hermione had always been a little more sensitive to these kinds of things, ls slickly to bounce back as fast as either boy. They wouldn't go as far as to say that she was fragile, because she wasn't. It was more like her scars stuck around for longer. The boys shared a look that spoke volumes then focused on holding one another close.

They could fix their problems later, for now they were going to revel in the rightness of it all. After all, they'd seen the worst they could offer, stared it in its face and accepted it. They didn't need to think of anything else for a while.


End file.
